Winding Road
by Stephair
Summary: Claire has been living seven years in Boston with Frank and a young Brianna. That summer, they make a trip back to Britain, including Inverness. When Brianna goes missing, Claire is worried that history has repeated itself.
1. Chapter 1

Seven years ago, Claire had disembarked from the airplane and had first stepped onto American soil at the tarmac in Boston. Claire had said _Je suis prest_ to sturdy herself as Claire always did for any coming ordeal. At that moment, something crossed over in her mind. Claire had put a period, turned a page, finished a chapter, closed a book—whatever metaphor was necessary to go on and to just…endure.

In the intervening years, Claire had often wondered what it had all meant. _Why was I chosen? What was I meant to accomplish? Why did I go back to that moment in time?_ Geillis had gone back further in time than Claire. Geillis had left in 1968 and arrived in Scotland a few years before her; she must have gone back 225 years or more. So why did Claire go back 202 years and then come forward 202 years? Claire couldn't reason out the underlying logic of it.

 _Was I supposed to change things?_ _If so, was I now enduring the penalty for my failure? We couldn't succeed. Despite our best efforts, nothing had changed._ Nothing discernible changed because she had gone back. From 1743 to 1746, she had killed people who would have lived and saved people who would have died and yet none of that legacy seemed to have carried forth unto today. And she felt sometimes she would go mad trying to make sense about alternate timelines and parallel universes and the like.

 _Was I supposed to know and yet fail like the Greek myth of Cassandra?_ Was she cursed to know all these future events and also the knowledge that all the warnings and advice were for nought?

 _Was I simply a messenger?_ _Was I supposed to know the Highland way of life before it passed into history forever so that I could tell people how they lived and that through my stories, they would be able to live on?_ If so, Claire was failing miserably, because except for Mrs. Graham and Frank, Claire had told nobody. Not even her bonny red-haired lass knew anything about the Fraser clan, her land, or her heritage. When Claire eventually did tell Brianna, would she hate her? Claire had been able to preserve her daughter's life and her own by coming forward in time, but by doing so, Claire had denied her daughter Scotland, her birthright, and her true father.

During these last years as Claire watched her daughter getting older, she could feel the memories of those lost years, that lost life receding into shadow and the vibrant palette of the Scottish countryside and her Jamie were fading to gray.

Her life was busy most of the time—with Brianna and with study and those tasks often were sufficient to drive away her thoughts. However, at night Claire was lying alone in her bed or she would look up at the stars in the 1955 sky and remember sitting beneath those same constellations with Jamie, leaning back into his strong broad chest, by a roaring campfire. Those were the times that drove her to reflection, to melancholy, to mourning her great love.

Claire was now flying among the clouds and in an hour, they would land and Claire would step back onto British soil. Frank sat on the aisle and Brianna between them, a typical arrangement that worked best for the couple. Over the last years, they were far better as parents than as spouses and Claire had never found the ability nor the inclination to bridge the chasm that existed between them.

The Spring semester had ended a few days ago at Harvard and both Frank and Claire were on summer break from teaching and attending medical school. Claire had silently rebelled against the idea of returning to Britain and being a few hundred miles from the locations that had meant so much to her. The memories and the ghosts had been far easier to resist with thousands of miles of oceans between that bit of earth and her. However, Frank had insisted on going. He would not allow himself to remain in an imposed exile from his home country and he would not be separated from his daughter. He did nothing wrong in his mind and he would not be penalized or punished. And besides, he had wanted to take her little girl to the grand palaces and medieval castles of her fairy tales. So their travels would include day trips to Hampton Palace and the great castles in Leeds and Warwick. Brianna was coming to Britain with him for the summer he had decreed and therefore, by necessity and her adopted Fraser stubbornness, so was Claire.

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Frank had become accustomed to Claire's apathy for all things unrelated to Brianna and medicine and had set the trip itinerary himself. After they landed and Claire once again sturdied herself with the Fraser mantra, Frank informed her that they would spend several weeks in Oxford and Cambridge and then travel up to Edinburgh where he would work with a colleague. While there, he would take a one-week trip, _by himself_ he had stressed, up to Inverness for some additional research there.

Claire battled internally at this pronouncement. Inverness would be difficult to see once more and it would perhaps send her mind on soul-searing trajectories—a happenstance that Claire definitely did not want Brianna to witness. Claire knew she possessed immense fortitude and mental strength, but humans were not meant to travel through time and she worried that at some point, the strain would break her. However, Claire recoiled at the announcement that she and Brianna would stay behind in Edinburgh. Claire was not one to be dictated to in any century and certainly not for the sake of Frank's likely motivations of insecurity.

So they had a row and Claire prevailed that Brianna and she would indeed accompany Frank to Inverness. In the aftermath of that row, she felt more like Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp than she had in years. She could feel the layers of 'Claire Randall' that she had morphed into while dwelling in America were falling away and that she was returning to her true self once more.

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Frank had extracted one promise from her before they had ventured north to Inverness—Claire was to stay far, far way from the stones at Craigh na Dun. Claire accepted. It was a fair concession on his part and it would have brought about unnecessary torture for her. Everyday that Claire lived in this noisy century without Jamie and that Brianna lived without knowing her true father was another day of shallow knife cuts. No need to inflict deep stab wounds on herself.

In the years since reappearing through the stones, pregnant and broken-hearted, Frank had remained the same as Claire had always described him. Frank was solid and kind; he was good to Brianna and her. The wounds Claire had inadvertently inflicted on him had never healed, Claire knew. Nevertheless he soldiered on as head of their family as one would expect of any Englishman and particularly an English veteran of World War II. And yet, Claire knew that this life they had now was one that they had reluctantly inherited—it wasn't one of their choosing.

Claire cared for him and she profoundly wished for a way to stop hurting him. However, the inertia that prevented them from fully discussing those lost years also prevented them from ever fully reestablishing themselves as a couple. And Claire, as much as Frank, soldiered on.

And yet, as the train rolled north into the Highlands, Claire began to worry that this journey to Inverness was a disastrous mistake as a low buzzing sound that only she could hear began to build.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2.

While in Inverness, Claire preferred Mrs. Graham's company to that of Frank and Reverend Wakefield, who were both perpetually flanked by mountains of papers. Frank still spoke proudly of his ancestor, Black Jack Randall. Claire had spoken in broad terms about the man's misdeeds, but Frank had never wanted specifics from her and didn't want her stories to sully the dashing, adventurous image he had built up in his head. She allowed him to keep that fiction. She had deprived him of so much else that it felt a small thing to allow him to continue to believe as he wished about his ancestor.

One day the Reverend and Frank had gone out with Brianna while Claire spent the day with Mrs. Graham. They never touched on those lost years or the standing stones, but that shared knowledge and her understanding underwrote everything that passed between them. With her, Claire felt it was okay to love her daughter's father, to love someone who wasn't her recognized husband, and Claire knew that in Mrs. Graham, she had found a kindred spirit.

And then the phone rang. And the world shifted. Oftentimes cataclysmic events can happen from such relatively minor actions—a decision to go pick flowers, a phone call. Lives are upended in an instant due to something seemingly so inconsequential.

Mrs. Graham rose and answered the phone and Claire sat staring at her as she listened to the message. Mrs. Graham said little and for the duration of the phone call, both Claire and Mrs. Graham were caught in a strange sort of suspended animation. Mrs. Graham's eyes grew wide and the weight of inexorable truth fell upon Claire and she knew.

The stones weren't done with her yet.

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"Brianna is missing?" Claire repeated Mrs. Graham's words hoping that somehow the older woman had been speaking another language—Gaelic, French, anything-and the words would somehow translate to anything else but the meaning that Claire now understood.

Brianna had been given into her keeping, was to be kept safe as Jamie Fraser's best legacy and his most sacred treasure and now her child and Jamie's child was missing.

Missing. Claire's mind now wandered along scary paths. Was Brianna hurt? Kidnapped? Dead? Was she in pain?

Claire then asked the most important question. "Missing from where? Where did they go?" If Frank had taken Brianna anywhere near Craigh na Dun, then she'd…she'd…she didn't know what she would do.

Brianna had gone through the stones before. She was Claire's daughter. Would the stones recognize the little girl and allow her entrance?

With a sinking weight, Claire realized the date—Midsummer's Day. Not nearly as important as Beltane or Samhain in pagan traditions, but still one of the great days on their calendar.

"Where did they go?" Claire pressed again, with more urgency and ire. The unspoken location hovered between them.

"About a mile away from the stones," Mrs. Graham answered slowly, regretfully. "To an old kirk that was one of the Jacobite camps. She was getting bored and the Reverend and Mr. Randall were engrossed in their papers…" Mrs. Graham stopped, there was nothing further to add or to justify the men for their carelessness.

"Jesus H. Eisenhower Christ!" A bit of crockery was a casualty as it was tossed at the fireplace along with the epithet.

"Calm yeself," Mrs. Graham soothed her, patting her shoulder, "Ye won't be any help to the girl goin' on like this."

Claire blew her hair out of her face and the calming breath helped a bit. She'd been in bad situations before. Work the problem. Take action. Think. Do. Fall apart later _if_ there is downtime. "Do you know the kirk?"

"I do," she replied as she went for the car keys and a few minutes later, they were headed to see the men.

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Frank looked desperate and lost. His hair was askew as though he'd run his hands through it far too many times.

"Where have you looked?" Claire asked as she walked up to him.

Frank grabbed her hand. That small gesture more than anything else communicated his profound worry. "We called in the police and have looked north and east. We doubled back to meet up with you."

"Have you gone west?" Claire gestured toward the stones in the far distance.

Frank shook his head. "Not yet. You don't really think that's a concern."

"It's Midsummer's Day and she's been through them before. I'm worried the stones may work for her."

Frank shook his head, "The chances that, one, she went to Craigh na Dun, two, she touched that exact stone and three, she went through, are so remote…"

Claire cut through all his logic, "We need to know. We need to be sure. Just imagine her, a seven-year-old girl, by herself, in that time." She was driving herself to tears. "She won't know anyone or how to live in that time. She'll be so scared. It was horrid enough for me when I first landed there and realized what had happened, but just imagine for a little girl, for Brianna."

Frank struggled with his options and looked askance at the stone circle he hated in the distance. Sunset came very late in the Highlands during the summer and was still hours away. They still had time to search before they decided anything definite.

"Claire," Mrs. Graham interrupted, "if you're thinking of going through, you can't go unprepared. Give me an hour to get you some gold, some food, and some clothes."

Claire grabbed Mrs. Graham's hand, "Thank you."

Mrs. Graham nodded and was quickly back at her car and speeding off on her mission.

Resigned, Claire turned towards the standing stones and made her way towards them, calling out Brianna's name and searching the grasses for any trace of her daughter along the way.

Thirty minutes later, Claire and Frank arrived at the perimeter of the circle. The Reverend had gone south to cover more ground.

A few feet away, truth plunged deep into Claire's breast. She spied one of Brianna's hair barrettes lying on the ground. It was Daisy Duck with a little bit of paint where her daughter had tried to change the color of the bow; it was undeniably Brianna's.

Claire lunged for it and gripped it tight, allowing the metal pins to dig into the soft flesh of her palm. "She was here Frank. Our little girl was here."

Frank gingerly took the hair barrette and knew it immediately also. He then started calling out to his daughter once more at double the volume. Claire could hear the pain and desperation in his voice. He continued shouting for her for the next ten minutes until he finally went hoarse.

He sank on the grass, dejected and bereft and his hands were shaking. Claire could hear him murmur softly, "Not again. Not again. Not again."

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They had looked down the sides of the plateau to make sure they could see in case Brianna had come to the stones and then ventured on. The position of the stone circle at the top of the hill provided an ideal vantage point to look for her throughout the valley and also for their voices to carry. Brianna had come to Craigh na Dun. That much was certain. Enough time hadn't passed that she could have gone hungry or needed to sleep. There wasn't much to injure herself and the nearby creeks were hardly big enough to be dangerous. If she was still here— _in this time_ —then she should still be okay and unharmed.

Claire tried to avoid stepping on or looking at the place- the precious bit of earth-where she last saw Jamie. Frank noticed her careful sidestepping and her quick looks away and she could see the anger rise in his eyes and yet die on his lips.

Mrs. Graham jaunted up the hill, breathless. She had put herself through great physical exertion and urgency for her mission. Claire threw herself into a hug for gratitude at her friend's help and also, she truly need to hug and hold someone. The reticence and the wall between her and Frank had not abated just because they were worried over their dear little girl.

"Here," Mrs. Graham said, thrusting the bag into her arms, "I got you as much gold as I could muster and some coins from the Reverend Wakefield's house. I know he won't mind. Some matches, some bread, a fair bit of powdered eggs. The eggs'll likely taste disgusting, but you'll need the protein I think more than anything else I could send with you. And here's a costume. It'll be a little bit big for you, but it should serve."

Speech finished and supplies delivered, Mrs. Graham stopped to take a breath. "What do you think? Are you decided?"

Claire shook her head. "I have until sunset I think, which is still hours off. The police are looking, yes?" Mrs. Graham nodded at that. "Well, if we haven't found her by then, then I will go through."

Frank gave her an unblinking stare, "Claire, are you mad?"

Claire grimaced back at him and his judgments and accusations, although she knew all that were agitated by worry. "I can't leave her alone there. I can't do it! If I find her there and somehow, we can't get back, then I will send you a message-through a bank or through a safety deposit box, something. I won't leave you wondering. I'll date it for tomorrow."

Frank shook his head, "Couldn't you date it for yesterday so that this will never happen?"

"I can't change the future Frank! I tried! We tried! And Culloden still happened. Nothing we did changed anything!"

Frank turned away with her repeated uses of _we_. He didn't want to picture that _we_ again.

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The search continued. Mrs. Graham held vigil at Craigh na Dun while Claire and Frank continued looking in widening concentric circles without success. When the sun dipped below the tree line, she knew it was time to go.

"Frank!" Claire called out to him; she wanted to give him a decent goodbye at least. She reached out to touch him, the first time she'd made that effort since Brianna went missing. "Frank, if she's there through the stone, I will bring our daughter back. Trust me on that one."

Frank nodded, the faintest hint of a tear at the corner of his eye. That tiny tear spoke more than anything about his love for Brianna. He gave Claire a long hug and kiss that was partially on her lips, partially on her cheek. "Please, both come back. I want you both back."

Claire shouldered Mrs. Graham's bag and took a step towards the central stone, the anchor for the smaller ones at the periphery. She cautiously, tentatively, put up her hands, millimeters away from stone and buzzing grew louder.

As she made physical contact with the stone and could feel the rough bits and the nooks and crannies carved by time, she started to feel the alien, yet now familiar feeling of falling away.

But this time was different. This time, she felt Frank's hands on her back. Whether he was trying to stop her or trying to come with her, she didn't know. This instance when she fell though time, she brought a companion with her.


	3. Chapter 3

_AN: Forgot Disclaimer in Chapter 1. I am not Diana Gabaldon, Ronald Moore, etc. Also, this story is inspired mostly by the TV series, but some gaps are filled in by information within the books. Also, I have a certain point in mind that I definitely want to take this story to; how far it goes beyond that will depend on reader interest. Speaking of which, thank you to everyone who has reviewed (which I love reading) and the follows!_

Chapter 3

The foundation of Claire's life was based on three fundamental pillars: 1) her love for Jamie and Brianna and her gratitude to Frank 2) her love for the Scotland she had been forced to abandon; and 3) her pursuit of knowledge and saving lives through medicine. The tragedy at Culloden had knocked out those three legs from beneath her and had toppled her equilibrium, her entire world view, and her closeness with her friends and her family. With this secret of the stones, she was separated from them and was finding it nearly impossible to function within her marriage. The truth was that Culloden Moor had uprooted, upended, and upset everything that was sacred about her life. She could not speak of it. She had found it difficult to be around her friends and Frank because every moment she did, was a moment that she did _not_ tell them the truth, or in Frank's case, he didn't want to hear the full truth, and therefore every moment felt like a lie.

Perhaps going back through the stones would help her to finally restore balance within her life and mind.

When Claire tumbled through in search of her missing daughter, she lost her footing and tripped to the ground, rolling several times until she finally stopped in an ungraceful heap and a tempestuous "oof!"

She looked over and her horrific suspicions were confirmed. Frank came with her. Frank was with her, most likely in the 1750s.

She crawled over to him, sprawled out on the grass. "Frank, are you okay?"

"Wh-What happened?" he asked groggily, clutching his head.

Claire shook her head, "You're about to get an up close and personal viewpoint on history—probably like no other historian ever."

Frank still wasn't registering the truth, "Where's Mrs. Graham?"

"She's gone. She won't be here for another two hundred years. Inverness is over in that valley and should be lit up by now with electric lights and yet it is dark. The car is gone. The road is gone. We have come through the stones and we are probably in 1753."

Frank sat there, still shaking his head. "No, this can't be real."

Claire cupped his cheeks with her hands. "It's true. I've been through this before. When I stumbled through and saw Redcoats firing their guns, I thought I had wandered into a movie set. The awful reality was soon made clear though." Claire dropped lower so she could look at Frank directly in his eyes, "Frank, I need you to stay with me on this one. I need you to accept this. I need you to listen to me and know that I actually know far more about this time than you, whether you're a historian and an expert on this period or not. I lived here for two and a half years. I need you to listen to me."

Frank still wasn't fully hearing her. He scrambled to his feet and looked towards Inverness, "Where's the city?"

"It's there, but dark. When I first came through, I had the same trouble coming to terms with what had happened to me. It's getting dark now and we won't be able to find Brianna right now. As difficult as it will be, we need to make camp and wait until morning."

"No. We need to start looking for her now," Frank rose to his feet and moved to edge of the plateau. "Brianna!" he called. He had done the exact same thing ten minutes earlier, but that was 200 years in the future and he was now calling out in a very different world.

Claire ran to him and covered his mouth with his hand. "Stop it!" she hissed. "You can't do that here!"

"We have to find our daughter!"

"Would you be yelling like that in the middle of Nazi Germany?"

Frank stopped short with a confused look.

Claire continued, "We aren't in peacetimes here anymore. There aren't friendly policemen out there also looking for Brianna. There's British soldiers who hate Scots. There's starving Scots and thieving Scots. We need the little supplies that we have and I don't want them stolen because you advertised our presence here. Now listen to me, please! And keep your mouth shut!"

Frank stopped and looked, really looked at her since she had told him the fantastical story of her disappearance. At the time, he had listened to her, accepted that her story was the only explanation that he was going to get, and understood that she had been with another man who had gotten a baby—scratch that, two babies—on her. Then she came back, obviously still in love with that other man while all the time claiming that she hadn't chosen any of it. Even wedding and bedding another man was thrust upon her only so that she could escape some nefarious fate that was supposedly worse than death.

Mrs. Graham _was_ gone. The car _was_ gone. The road _was_ gone. The light from Inverness _was_ gone.

"This is true?" Frank asked. "Everything you said—it was actually real?"

Claire smiled, an exasperated, indulgent smile that one might give to a little child who finally accepted that she needed to eat her vegetables, "Yes, everything I told you was true. We're here together and I need you to work with me. Please don't fight me and question me at every turn. Please know that if I tell you something, then it is necessary and it's not to insult you or trivialize you or demean you."

Without warning, Claire remembered all the advice that Jamie had given her in those early days of her arrival when he thought her merely an Englishwoman and not an Englishwoman from the future. Jamie had helped her so much in coming to understand the viewpoint of her 18th century countrymen and helping her adapt. She realized once more what an amazing gift he'd provided her with. In those early days, she had been lucky to find him and Mrs. Fitzgibbons. She needed to help Frank now and help him acclimate in this familiar, yet wholly alien environment.

It would probably be worse for Frank though. As a historian, he was guided by his scholarship and his assumptions—assumptions based on historical records and his 20th century biases. That would create an arrogance in him that he knew everything about this time period. Knowing Frank, he might even deign to lecture 18th century Scots about 18th century Scotland! She would need to curb those professorial instincts of his in which he wanted to lecture as though all the world was a classroom and all the world were lecture-hungry students.

Frank needed to keep silent. He needed to learn and make _quiet_ research by listening. Claire jumped when she realized the terrible quandary posed by his appearance. Black Jack Randall was infamous throughout the Highlands for torturing its sons and humiliating its daughters. Claire doubted that the last seven years had made anyone forget the innumerable insults that blackguard had wrought upon its people. Frank was going to look just like Jack Randall with a hair cut and plain clothes (ugh, his modern clothes!) and could be a target of revenge for anyone they encountered.

"Frank, we have a problem."

"One problem?" Frank asked, almost using sarcasm.

"I didn't expect you to come through with me."

Frank looked up at the stars and noticed how many more he could see without the city's light pollution. "At the last second, I got scared…for you…for us. You started looking translucent…I just reached out for you. But this is true. Everything you told me is true. I never believed it. Not really. Deep down, I just thought it was some elaborate fabrication to justify in your head about cheating on me."

Claire shook her head, "No, it wasn't that." She felt frustrated at his admission. Frustrated that it took him coming back through time to prove the truth of her words to him. She didn't want to compare him to Jamie; it wasn't fair. However, with far less verifiable proof about flying machines and such, Jamie had believed her.

"All this time," Frank went on, still not quite comprehending. "You really came here. You were at Prestonpans and Falkirk and met the 'Bonny Prince Charlie'"

"He wasn't quite so bonny in truth and no one I knew ever called him that."

Frank looked away for a long moment and then back at her, "I really am a fool. Here I was, studying the Jacobite Rebellion by going through papers and old documents and all the while, I was living with best Jacobite expert of the twentieth century. And yet, I couldn't ask or think of you in those terms. I was just too damn proud," Frank took her hands in his, "Can you forgive me?"

Claire struggled to answer; she knew he was asking for more than forgiveness, he was also asking for another chance to try to have a real marriage. She wasn't prepared for that, not in this time and place, so instead she deflected the question while attempting to give a reassuring smile, "There's nothing to forgive."

Frank nodded and resumed his questions.

"Did you really meet King Louis the Fifteenth?"

"Yes Frank, I did." With Frank's recent talk on cheating, she didn't really want to mention that she'd also been bedded by the French king.

Frank was getting excited now, "And Black Jack Randall? My ancestor?"

"He's actually not your direct ancestor. His brother Alex was, but that's a long story. And Black Jack Randall is our problem."

"How?"

"Believe me, the man _earned_ his reputation and nickname. You look very similar to him. You could pass for him even."

Frank seemed even more interested by this news, "Really? You never told me that."

"Beyond my initial explanation, you never wanted to hear details about my time here."

Frank looked away, "Well give me some credit for handling it as best I could. That time was quite…trying."

Claire took his hand once more. "I know, but let's get back to the matter at hand. Resembling Captain Jack Randall is not a good thing, Frank. There's many people here who are liable to shoot you on sight."

"He was that bad? Seriously?"

"Frank, yes! I know history doesn't record or preserve all the atrocities that the victors lay upon the vanquished or the occupiers lay upon the occupied, but trust me when I tell you that man committed unspeakable crimes."

Frank's expression soured, "You had said that he tortured…him."

Claire grew frustrated again; after all this time, Frank still referred to Jamie as _him_ , "Yes. Captain Randall tortured Jamie. Jamie was a good man—a brave man. He saved my life numerous times. Now that we're here, back in his time, I will need to talk about him and _you need to allow that._ "

From Frank's expression, he had closed himself off again. "I don't want to talk about him—period."

Claire let it go for now. "Fine. I'll just say one more thing. I don't mention him to hurt you. Nothing I did here in this time was intended to hurt you. I was trying to survive. I was trying to get back to you too." Frank's expression remained as remote as ever when anything connected to her other husband and her other life was mentioned. Claire conceded the point for now. "Okay, we need to discuss what to do in the morning. I would recommend we visit some the farmhouses in the immediate area and see if Brianna wandered into one of them. If not, then we need to get to Inverness, get you a hat and some more appropriate clothes, and get a feel for law enforcement in the town. I know how things were before Culloden, but that was such a cataclysmic ending for the Scottish way of life, I'm not sure how much that what I knew before still applies."

Frank nodded, he was okay with all those proposals.

Claire looked him over, "Also, we need to do something about your clothes until we can get you some new ones. Lose the tie and the vest. You can leave on your suitcoat now for the cold, but don't wear it when we go see folks—just down to your shirtsleeves and pants. It's not ideal, but it won't stand out as much."

Claire hoped that they would be lucky and find Brianna soon. In the 20th century at least, the first 48 hours after a child's disappearance were the most critical. She didn't want to tempt 18th century statistics on that point. "If we are unsuccessful from traveling in the surrounding area and from making discreet inquiries in Inverness, then we need to do something more drastic. You may not like it, but Brianna is my first priority and you're going to have to accept it."

"What?" Frank asked, his tone sounding half of insolence, half of dread.

"We need to hire a horse and travel to Lallybroch and get help."

Frank looked confused, "Lallybroch?"

"Jamie's home." Frank flinched and began shaking his head.

"Frank, we'll have to. I know Jamie died at Culloden, but Brianna has family there. They're her kin and will help find her. They will have access to the surviving clans and clan lairds far more than you and I by ourselves will. They will help us learn if a seven-year-old girl suddenly appeared to someone in the Highlands. That much can't have changed in the last seven years. Even if the clans have gone underground, they will help on behalf of Red Jamie. If it's necessary, you need to be okay with that for Brianna's sake. I know you love her. I know you love her far more than you hate Jamie for siring her."

Instead of responding, Frank just looked away.

Frustrated yet again, Claire looked up at the stars overhead, her eyes automatically veering towards Orion. For the last seven years, she kept to the illusion that she was looking up at her warrior, her hunter, her Jamie and that he was looking down on her and Brianna, forever watching over them and protecting them.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

During their search for Brianna the next day, Claire and Frank teetered on a knife edge, performing a delicate balancing act between looking as vigorously and as quickly as they could for their daughter while at the same time not trying to attract too much attention.

Culloden Moor was seven years in the past, but that didn't mean their situation was any less precarious. They could be set upon by the British or the Scottish. They were foreigners here, strangers here, and they didn't belong. If something happened to them, then any chance for Brianna being properly restored to their family would be gone forever.

Claire knew from the fierce, but defeated looks on people's faces that they were wandering through a conquered land. No one wore kilts any more and she missed the plaids that made Highland Scotland so distinctive and enchanting. She missed the lilting cadences of the Gaelic language. But most of all, she missed the dead men who encompassed the vibrant clan life she had come to love at Castle Leoch even if she felt its prisoner at times. The bawdy, rugged, but fiercely brave and loyal Scotmen who fell at Culloden were only bones now—buried in mass graves based on their plaids. She swiped away the tears that came at the nightmarish image.

Frank broke into her thoughts. "Yeah, those god-awful smells are making my eyes water too. I will never take sewage pipes or the cars that replaced horses for granted again."

Claire corrected him, "the smells don't bother me. I got inured to it while a field nurse and its omnipresent here in this time. Give it a few days."

"Then why were you crying?" When she hesitated, he pressed on, "Claire, especially here and now, you need to be honest with me."

"Just noticing the changes here and thinking about the staggering high cost of Culloden Moor. Prince Charles paid little for his vanity and ambition. He didn't lose his life or his fortune. The whole cost of his war has been borne by the people here and who bled on that Moor—his people supposedly—but Prince Charles never paid in any real way for his folly and bad decisions. Jamie tried to give him good advice and counsel that could had made things end differently. That fop was so wholly unworthy of the sacrifices that real men made on his behalf. If I ever see that dolt again, I will want to see him suffer as the Highlanders have suffered. He truly was the Young Pretender as the British called him. He _pretended_ to be capable of commanding an army. He _pretended_ to be a brave Scottish warrior. He _pretended_ to be a great leader. And in the end, it was all such a dreadful waste."

Frank reached around and gave her a half hug, trying to provide some measure of comfort. As a scholar of the Jacobite Rebellion, he had known all those things intellectually, but had never been invested emotionally in the war's outcome.

They walked in silence for another ten minutes across verdant hills and through vibrant fields of heather and thistle until they reached the fence of another croft. Claire gave the story she had at several other dwellings that day. "We're looking for our wee lass. She's seven years old with red hair and blue eyes and dressed in French clothes. She got lost yesterday. She's lived her whole life in the city of Paris and so this Scottish countryside will seem quite strange to her and we're quite worried for her. Have you seen her please?"

As with the other crofts, she received the same response. They shook their head no, a mixture of pity and suspicion on their faces for these strangers and their story, but Claire never encountered anyone who looked as though they were hiding the truth.

The next day they arrived to Inverness. While looking through the countryside, it was conceivable to convince oneself that it was still the 20th century and they were just encountering rural and poor farmers who hadn't the money for modern upgrades. Indeed, much of the American Appalachias had not progressed beyond 18th century technology until well into the 1900s. However, there was no mistaking the time period when they arrived into Inverness. Frank looked around feeling almost giddy-as though he had stepped into the best historical project ever. Documents and written records could only convey so much about a time and about a people. Frank, ever the historian, looked around slack jawed pointing out one thing or another to Claire, "They really did this?" or "It was really like that?" until she grew annoyed and told him to pay attention to little red-haired girls instead.

Frank and Claire scoured through the town with no success and Claire's constant worry was slowly escalating and making it difficult for her to think straight and keep her head. The apothecary remembered her and she saw Frank stiffen as she was greeted as 'Mistress Fraser.' The apothecary was little help though as no one had stopped in for potions or herbs for a sick girl in the last two days, but he promised to keep his eyes and ears open on her behalf.

After several days of fruitless and unpromising searches in Inverness, Claire knew that she needed to leave the town. She didn't want to leave Inverness, even to secure help in Lallybroch. She desperately wanted to stay close to her daughter's location and hoped her daughter was close by. Travelling for several days to Lallybroch in the hope of getting reinforcements and additional help was smart but she still felt scared to leave Inverness on the chance that they would miss their only chance for spotting Brianna.

Frank was resigned to her plan, realizing the necessity of it, and made no objection as she traded a fair bit of gold for a horse.

As they left the town of Inverness behind them, Claire said a silent prayer and beseeched Brianna to be okay. They would come back for her. She also though of her own Latin phrase—one that she had adopted for herself, much like _Je suis prest_ served the Frasers.

 _Dum spiro, spero_. While I breathe, I hope.

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It had been tough going on the one horse. The animal tired out more frequently and they needed to take breaks often. However, it was cheaper than getting two horses and the extra feed and Frank had never ridden a horse before and wouldn't do well on his own. However, the imposed physical closeness of sharing a saddle did not aid in breaking down the barriers between them. They still had trouble discussing anything beyond mundanities and Brianna. Fortunately they had traversed those many miles between Inverness and Lallybroch unimpeded and unmolested. Anyone else they saw on the road were also poor people trying to eke out an existence and as wary of Claire and Frank as they were of them.

As they neared Lallybroch, Claire's excitement instinctually grew and she was bouncing in the saddle in anticipation. Frank, recognizing that, grew more sullen and morose. She couldn't help but remember another time, another horse, _another husband_ when she had traveled from the stones at Craigh na Dun to the Lallybroch lands. Back then, she was finally given a choice of going or staying and it had been her beloved Jamie that made it possible. Knowing that Jamie didn't want Claire to leave, knowing what it was costing him to bring her to those stones after the witchcraft trial and she had told him the full truth. Knowing that a few weeks before when he had told her to stay put in the glade and in that moment, she had wanted to leave him and to be gone forever without a trace forever. However, Claire couldn't leave Jamie back then when he'd brough her to Craigh na Dun and presented her with the choice. Despite the violence and superstition and danger, she would choose the 18th century world a thousand times over simply because that world included Jamie.

As Claire and Frank reached the outskirts of the Lallybroch lands; she could see the chimney stacks and top floors of the family home peeking out among the rolling hills. She felt an enchanting stirring in her breast as though she were finally coming home. All these past years, home wasn't in America, she couldn't call that a home. That was merely a house with hot showers and without smelly stables or chamber pots.

This was home.

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She saw an older man that she didn't recognize working in the fields, but close to the path. Claire called out to him. Frank had been getting more comfortable with the horse and swung off the animal to the ground and then reached up his hands to help her get down.

When Claire first stepped onto the ground, she indulged herself for a moment, just wanting to feel the earth, Lallybroch land, beneath her feet. The old man looked at Frank expecting him, as the man, to talk; but then he looked at Claire when it was obvious that Frank was deferring to her.

After initial pleasantries, Claire got to the matter at hand, "I'm looking for Mistress Jenny Murray. Is she about?"

The man's face saddened, "Aye, but ye might be careful about ye visiting. They is mournin' Mister Jamie's passing."

Claire suddenly felt light-headed and swayed backwards, supported by Frank's chest. "Mister Jamie's passing?" Claire repeated slowly.

"Aye, 'twas about a week past it was. Sad business for them. He came sick with the flux and no one around knew what to do for him. 'Member some years back, there was a Lady Lallybroch who was a healer of some sorts and she might've done something, but 'tis over now. Put him in the ground two days ago."

"Jamie died last week?" Claire repeated, unbelieving, still not able to process this horrible news. "Only a week? All this time—all these years. He's survived these last seven years. I was here—in Scotland I mean-a week ago. If I had gotten here…. Oh, God!" Claire turned her face away, not wanting to show her tears.

The old man behind her tipped his hat, "Sorry mistress, to bring such sad tidings for ye as well. Go with God, mistress, sir." The old man went back to his work, leaving Claire and Frank alone.

Frank stood there, watching his wife's heart break for another man…again. He wanted to comfort her as any human would want to comfort someone in pain and he tentatively put a hand lightly on her shoulder.

Claire recoiled immediately from his touch. She turned towards him, no longer bothering to hide her tear-stained face. "I-I need some time," she pointed to some tall haystacks in the distance. "I need some time alone and you need to be okay with that. You may think me unfair, but I just need you to wait here. Okay?"

Frank didn't respond right away.

"Okay?" Claire insisted, louder this time.

Frank could only anemically nod and Claire tore away from him at a fast sprint, needing privacy and space as she once more tried to rebuild her life from ashes and ruins.

And Frank once more felt like he wasn't a person with his own thoughts, feelings, and desires. He was only a character, a supporting player in Claire's drama, merely being carried along the ebbs and tides of her story and her life.

He sank to the earth about ten feet from the tethered horse and bowed his head.

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Frank could no longer hear Claire's muffled sobs. But that didn't make the waiting any easier. He knew deep in his soul that Claire would never mourn him like that. She would shed a tear or two because he was 'good' and 'kind' and a 'good father to Brianna' and that would be the end of it.

He felt numb at that knowledge, wanting to blight out this reality. Frank wasn't really sitting here in the dirt on James Fraser's lands in 1753 while his wife sat heartbroken fifty feet away crying for her other husband.

The feeling of numbness quickly gave way to the feel of cold steel at this throat. Frank could sense more than actually see, a towering presence above him, blocking the sun. Frank wanted to turn and look up at the figure, but the knife at his throat stayed his movements.

"Ye have a few breaths to explain yeself so choose wisely."

During the war, Frank had been far removed from battle. That lack of fighting experience made it difficult for Frank to find his voice now.

The Scot continued, his voice sounding as sharp and steely as the blade at Frank's throat. "I saw Jack Randall die with my own eyes at Culloden Moor, so I truly doubt you're that man. But there's one way to ken fer sure. I gave that vile rapist a singular injury."

The blade moved from Frank's throat to his pants. "Ye able to take a piss standing up?"

With the blade gone from his throat, Frank was now able to look up and see his aggressor. The man was tall and strongly built with wavy red hair and blue eyes that matched Brianna's. Fraser eyes, Frank knew.

Frank raised his hands to show he posed no danger and scrambled to his feet. "I'm not Jack Randall. I'm not. Name's Frank."

Now the Scot looked stunned and recoiled a step backwards. "Frank?" he repeated. " _Claire's Frank_?"

Now Frank was surprised. "You know about me?"

"Where is Claire?" the Scot said, looking frantically around. When Frank didn't answer right away, he punctuated the question with the blade at Frank's face.

"Where is Claire?" the Scot demanded through his teeth.

Frank pointed at the haystacks. "She's over there. She just learned that…that…Jamie…died last week."

The Scot's eyes widened in surprise and confusion at the statement and then understanding. The man started to run towards Claire and then stopped and came back to Frank, weapon once more poised at him.

"Prove that yer Frank. I won't be leaving ye idle on me land unless I'm satisfied with who ye claim to be. What is Claire's birthday?"

"Excuse me?" Frank asked. That was not the question he was expecting.

"When was she born?"

"October twentieth," Frank answered, not wanting to give the year.

"What year?" the Scot pressed.

Frank debated his options, he knew enough to not going around advertising their familiarity with the twentieth century. "In '18." Frank finally answered.

"Ye's trying my patience. The full year."

There it was, cornered into the full truth, "1918."

The Scot still wasn't satisfied, "When I sent her back, she had-."

"When you sent her back?" Frank interrupted. Comprehension came upon him and he looked at this man again with the full weight of knowledge. This _was_ Jamie. This was the man that had stolen her and saved her and bedded her. From the looks of the Scot, it appeared that he could fuck Claire quite well. No wonder Claire was so devoted to the man and Frank's old ire and anger flared up again once more.

He had often wondered about this man and imagined him, wondered what he would say to this Jamie, how he would deal with him. He knew that Claire had compared him—his personality, his looks, his prowess in bed—with her other husband and had found Frank wanting. Claire was with Frank because of circumstances, because of obligation, because somehow he had 'won' by default, but Claire wasn't with him by choice or because she wanted to be. Everyday of their marriage since Claire had come back through the stones had felt like rejection and here was the source of that rejection before him. Rejection made flesh.

Frank had wondered about this day every since Claire came back to him. He knew that one day there would be a reckoning, a confrontation about the past, but he had no idea that it would come in this form—hurtled back two hundred years and looking into the face of his ghostly rival. Knowing this man's mouth and eyes had traversed every square inch of his wife's body, knowing this Scotman's mind knew of her reactions and sounds while making love just made Frank feel weak and nauseous. Frank didn't want to confront any man who held such knowledge about his wife, especially when that man would likely be proven better in every single way.

Frank couldn't help but imagine this strong, rugged man before him lifting his wife's skirts and pulling up his kilt (like all Scots after Culloden, he wasn't wearing a kilt at present, but Frank was certain he had regularly worn one before) and then this Jamie would pound away on his wife, his Claire, until she screamed with pleasure. That image had haunted him for years and now made worse that he had a face, a voice, and a body to go with his imaginings.

Frank's inner pride wanted to re-establish some semblance of dominance, but he wasn't off to a great start. It just wasn't in his nature. "You're, you're Jamie. You're Claire's… But that man said…"

A shadow passed over the man's face, "My nephew, wee Jamie, died last week, God rest his poor soul."

Frank was sorely disappointed that this Jamie wasn't the one who had died. He tried to feel guilty for thinking such things, but he couldn't quite manage it. As awful as it felt ten minutes before that his wife was behind a haystack crying for another man, that seemed far more preferable now than dealing with the reality that the man was standing before him and very soon, would be reunited with Claire. Imagining that scene, anticipating what he would inevitably be forced to overhear was hellish.

Jamie started again with his question, "When I sent her back, she had a certain medical condition. What was that medical condition?"

"She—she was pregnant," Frank replied. He expected a follow-up question about that pregnancy, but it didn't' come and he could only assume that Jamie wanted details from Claire and not from her other husband.

"Ye—ye wait here," Jamie said as he started toward the haystacks. A knife-edged sharpness ran through the Scot's command. The iron-willed tone called Frank back to the present.

"I'll not be ordered by you and Claire is _my_ wife. She…" Frank called to him.

Jamie paced back to the older man, "I am advising ye to stay here as I doubt ye want to overhear our business. And listen to me well on this point, Frank Randall, in this time and in this place, that woman is Claire Elizabeth Fraser, Lady of Broch Tourach and my wife and I will no see her disrespected," Jamie paused and lessened some of the bite from his tone. "I will also no dishonor her or those she holds dear. But I aim to go see her now and ye best sit down where I found ye and no interfere."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Jamie rushed towards the haystack, but still not quite believing that he would see his Claire on the opposite side. This would be some bit of trickery, some sleight-of-hand, and she would disappear from his touch just as she had disappeared through the stones.

He rounded the corner and saw a brown-haired woman sitting next to the promised haystack, her knees drawn up to her chest, her face buried in her hands. Although most of her was obscured, he knew her in an instant-his _mo nighean donn_.

Seeing her now, he approached slowly, worried every moment that she would disappear and he wanted to draw this moment out for as long as possible, just in case that trying to touch her would break the spell and end the enchantment.

He noticed her shoes. They weren't Highland shoes or anything like he'd seen on his travels. They must be 20th century shoes. This was real.

He knelt down before her and she still didn't seem to register his presence before her.

Tentatively, he reached out and touched her ankles and whispered, "Claire?"

She looked up, her beautiful tear-stained face registering shock and disbelief, but then she cried out "Jamie!" and launched herself into his arms.

Jamie loved the feeling of her weight against him, the feeling of her breasts smashing into his chest, the way her head nestled perfectly into his shoulder. She explored him as best she could with her hands-the feel of his hair, his sturdy back, his strong arms. She was convincing herself that this truly was her Jamie.

"You're here. You're real. You're my Jamie. I'm so sorry I stayed away. I didn't know you were alive. How ever did you survive? Can you forgive me for staying away? I didn't know." Her words tumbled out quickly and nearly incoherently.

Jamie immediately interrupted her, "Shhh, please don't apologize. Never apologize for that."

"A man just told me that you died last week. It seemed like some incredibly cruel joke of fate, but you're here. You're really here. You're alive! I can hold you once more."

Questions were thought, posed, and discarded. Nothing-no exchange of information-could possibly take precedence in that moment over their long-awaited reunion.

Jamie kissed her hair, "Our time together has taken over me mind, me heart, me spirit, me every waking moment, me every restless night." Claire squeezed him tighter and tasted salty, happy tears and swiped them away.

He pulled out of the embrace and turned around to face her, "Don't cry, love," he whispered. "I promise everything will be okay."

Claire moved closer, overwhelming him with the faintest hint of an intoxicating 20th century scent of vanilla that still clung to her skin. The perfume seemed even more erotic here. She traced a finger down his cheek and around to the back of his neck, twirling the hair of his bangs that always and adorably fell across his forehead.

Jamie loved this woman-loved her with his whole being. He stayed in her arms, never wanting to be anywhere else. Jamie and Claire regarded each other with steady unflinching gaze. Softly he laid his hand along the angle of her cheek and jaw, tilting her face gently upwards, and leaned down to claim her mouth with a tender and unhurried kiss. Claire was the one who finally broke away, and they had looked into each other's eyes for a long, shared, unspeaking moment

Claire raised Jamie's hand in both of hers, bringing it to her lips and pressing her mouth against his palm. Then, holding his hand still she slowly turned so that her lips crept along his fingers until she reached his fingertips. She kissed them lightly, and then, parting her lips, she slowly dipped two of his fingertips into her mouth, flicking her tongue, touching and tasting- before taking his long fingers deeper into her mouth, her tongue sliding along their length, and licking the webbed portion between them. Finally, she pulled back a little and very gently closed her teeth around his fingertips in a soft nip.

"Take care," he whispered, breathing hotly onto her neck.

A low, guttural groan escaped from deep in his throat and then he cupped Claire's face between his two hands, raising it towards him. When their open, hungry mouths joined once more it was, for both of them, like coming home.

Jamie finally found the strength to break away from the kiss and ask the question he'd wondered about hourly since he had sent her away. "The bairn?"

A smile and shadow crossed over Claire's face. "She's beautiful. She's the most beautiful little girl you ever saw with your hair, your eyes, and your stubbornness. She's…"

Concern clouded his face, "What? Tell me now, _mo nighean donn_."

"She's missing. I'm sorry. You left her in my keeping and now she's missing. Our last trace of her was at Craigh na Dun and we think she came through the stones on her own, but we haven't been able to find any trace of her. We're looking in the farms and crofts around Craigh na Dun and Inverness, but have found no hint of her anywhere yet. We came here hoping that Jenny or Ian-someone-would help us since Brianna-that's her name-since Brianna is their kin. I never dreamed I'd find you here. You have to help me find our daughter. Please!"

"Of course, ye need no ask. I would do anything for ye and our bairn, Brianna ye say?"

"Yes, after your father."

"And ye keep saying we, ye mean ye and…yer husband."

Claire froze at that and then slowly she nodded. "Yes, Frank followed me through the stones. I don't know how he managed it, but he did."

A hurt look clouded over Jamie's face, "Whatever ye want Claire. I am at yer service."

Claire was startled at the formality in his voice. "Jamie, you know, _you know_ , that when I was given a choice between you and Frank, you know I chose you. That hasn't changed…but he's here and I don't want to hurt him more than I already have by parading my feelings for you in front of him or…being with you, regardless how much I want you, with Frank so close. He's been a good father. Brianna adores him and the situation is so complicated, but I want you to know that underlying all of it, nothing has changed how I feel about you," Claire paused and then finished somewhat weakly, "I just don't want to hurt Frank again."

"Claire, I could forgive ye anything and everything. I won't be holding ye to any vows or choices ye made in the past if ye changed yer mind. But ye ken that whatere ye decide, then someone will be hurt. I ken ye heart though and that ye think it somehow that the hurt is more acceptable if ye heart is broken too. Ye can allow yeself-I want yeself to be happy even if ye choice breaks me heart."

Claire had unshakeable confidence in Jamie's judgment and his integrity, but she recognized, also, that he was a man of complex emotions and fierce passions, a man capable of dark, brooding melancholy. She was aware too, despite their closeness and their profound connection, there remained so many unspoken thoughts and so many past hurts that each had nursed alone. However, Claire knew now that there was no chasm they could not bridge, no impediment they could not surpass, and no obstacle that they could not sidestep

Claire reached up and caressed his chin, relishing the feeling of his stubble against her palm, "I haven't changed, I swear. My heart and feelings are unchanged, but as much as I want to stay like this with you forever, we need to make plans to find our daughter. If possible, I was hoping we could leave in the morning and head back toward Inverness. Brianna is certainly somewhere in that area and it was hell to leave that town even to come here to fetch help to look."

"Yes, of course. We will prepare provisions today and leave at first light."

"Jamie, tell me about Culloden Moor please and about what that man told me earlier."

Jamie bit his lip, not wanting to delve into the unpleasantness of the past, "Although I tried my best to die, I was injured but not killed on that battlefield. I was glad to see Jack Randall fall though and he was dead for certain that time, so knowing that was accomplished brought me some small measure of peace. I managed to escape back here to Lallybroch and lived in a cave for two years, only coming up to the house maybe once a month. When the British stopped executing people and just imprisoning them, I had one of the tenants turn me in to collect the price on my head and be able to feed the people here. Six months ago, I received a full pardon at the behest of King Louis XV; he'd heard that I was imprisoned and once more petitioned England on my behalf. You must have made an extraordinary impression on him, my dear sweet honey pot."

Claire blushed at his last allusion.

Throughout the conversation, the two constantly, perpetually instinctually caressed each other's hair, arms, the folds of their clothes. Talking wasn't enough. Each needed—craved—that physical connection.

Jamie went on, "I had hoped when I heard of King Louis XV petition that ye had somehow interceded with him on my behalf and that you were back in this time, but I eventually realized that he had just remembered ye-us-from that time years ago.

"How was your time in prison? Did the English treat you horribly?"

"None as bad as Randall. You never said that Frank looked so much like him. They could pass for twins. How could you handle it with Frank? I'm asking sincerely. How could you not think about Captain Randall near raping you when you are with Frank?"

"It's been difficult at times, especially when I first returned to the 20th century or when I'd have a nightmare and then wake up and find him looking down at me. I've done the best I could to separate Jack from Frank, but I haven't always been successful. And please believe me that, appearances aside, Frank is truly nothing like Jack."

Jamie nodded; he trusted her word and her judgment. If Claire believed that she could rely on Frank, then that was all the validation of a character that Jamie would ever need.

"So you've been back here at Lallybroch for six months?" Claire asked.

"Aye, times have been hard and a fortnight ago wee Jamie became sick and last week he passed on." He wanted to make sure she understood the sad news that had wounded her so grievously earlier.

"Wee Jamie," Claire repeated, "Jenny and Ian must be going through so much pain. Losing a child…"

Jamie grabbed her hand, "I know. I'll never forget our wee Faith."

Their shared pain over the loss of their first born and the horrific helplessness of not knowing the location of their second daughter preyed on both of them. And once more, they found themselves looking to seek comfort in each other's arms. The comfort turned to kisses and the kisses turned to exploration. Jamie leaned Claire back against the haystacks, but the moment she felt that he had hardened, she realized how close they were to the precipice and pushed him back.

"We can't," she gasped, trying to recover her breath. Claire sat up and tried to rearrange her clothes. Mrs. Graham's costume was getting desperately overdue for a washing after a week of daily and nightly wear. And it was definitely not the sort of outfit that Claire would have wanted Jamie to see her in again for the first time after all these years. However, the profound miracle of their reunion far outweighed any considerations of vanity. "We can't, please" Claire repeated.

"Aye, ye have my word," Jamie promised and added with a wink, "At least not today."

"Thank you. Thank you for understanding."

"I do, but if I canna lie with you, doesna mean I canna touch ye." Jamie gave her a wicked smile, "Can I touch ye, Claire? Can I have a peek at yer bonny arse?"

Claire couldn't resist his smile and chuckled. The endearing, dashing young man she had first met was still with her these years later. She pretended to mull over her answer, "Remember on our wedding night when you said that you were a virgin, but not a monk?"

Jamie slowly nodded, caressing her cheek as he did so, "Yes."

"Well, I think we should limit ourselves for now to whatever non-monk activities you conducted with those other lasses."

"As ye wish, my master," Jamie replied as he bent his head down and kissed the rise of her breasts peeking out the top of her dress.


	6. Chapter 6

_AN: I haven't said it in a few chapters, but I must reiterate how much I love seeing your reviews. Thank you for each and every one!_

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Chapter 6

Frank should have taken the Scot's advice and stayed put. If he hadn't allowed curiosity to defeat him, then he wouldn't have followed the man over to Claire's haystack and sat on the opposite side as them—out of sight, but certainly capable of hearing their kisses, their conversation, their soft laughter, and their overwhelming concern for each other when the talk turned serious.

He had approached the haystack when he heard her cry out the Scot's name. He heard her say that when given a choice about staying with Jamie or returning to her own time, that she had chosen to stay. He heard Claire say that Brianna was named after _his_ father—she had never divulged the reason for her choice of name to him. He heard a strange bit about King Louis XV. He heard the Scot say that Jack Randall had tried to rape her and that she still thought of it when she looked at Frank.

Memories swirled in his mind. The myriad of times she had flinched and pulled away. He hadn't known about the near-rape or the resemblance. He'd never wanted to hear details and it had prevented real understanding of all the issues affecting their marriage. He wasn't to blame for his ancestor's actions and yet he really couldn't blame Claire for flinching at his touch either.

How much did his resemblance to Black Jack Randall create a barrier between them?

Also he vividly overheard how much they meant to each other. He had tried to convince himself differently for years. But, there was a depth to the conversation between Claire and the Scot and to their interaction that he had never achieved with her—not even before the war or before Craigh na Dun.

He wanted to hate the Scot; he certainly resented him and yet when it came right down to it, the man had somehow managed to gain his grudging respect.

Frank rose to his feet and paced away from their haystack; he had heard enough.

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About five minutes later, Frank saw Claire and the Scot coming round the haystack, holding hands. As soon as Claire's eyes met his, she dropped it and walked quicker over to him, reaching him first.

The three stood for a moment in a dreadfully awkward silence. As the fulcrum between her English and Scottish husbands, Claire had the responsibility to speak first.

Claire positioned herself between the two men, "Frank, Jamie, I've spoken to both of you about the other—about my other husband—but I never anticipated this moment. I never thought it would be possible for you two to meet. I know this is difficult, but just know that I..." Claire struggled to find the best word, "…that I care for both of you and that you are both good and honorable men. And I know that both of you would do anything necessary to find and protect Brianna. I hope that can be enough common ground at present to maintain…civility."

Jamie looked from her to Frank, obviously measuring and studying him just as carefully as he had done in their first encounter. He was the first to nod. "Aye, Claire, ye have my word."

"Frank?"

He looked at Claire, his mind still reeling from what he had just overheard and still trying to process all the connotations and all the opportunities with his wife that he had so casually thrown away over the previous seven years. He bit his lip to ward off tears; Frank was determined that neither of them would see the heart-wrenching difficulty of this moment. Although Claire and Jamie were no longer holding hands, Frank could still sense the presence of some invisible tether tying the two together and certainly separate from him. When the moment of impending tears had passed, Frank managed to nod in response.

Claire audibly exhaled in relief. "Jamie, I'd like you to meet Frank Randall. Frank, this is James Fraser."

After several moments hesitation, Frank offered out his hand.

The handshake was not a typical greeting in Highland Scotland, but Jamie recognized the gesture and shook it in response.

Jamie looked at Claire when the moment was over, "Right, let's get yer horse to the stables and gather provisions to leave in the mornin' We'll have a fair bit of hard riding as I'd like to get to Inverness the mornin' after."

Frank cut in, "Who's the _we_ that you're talking about?"

Jamie gave a sidelong glance at Claire. "The three of us: me, Claire, and yeself."

Frank scoffed, "Okay, just checking."

"I'm not yer enemy Frank."

"Seemed like you were when your knife was at my throat, Fraser."

Claire's eyes widened at that statement, but Jamie's explanation satisfied her, "When I saw ye on me land, it made far more sense to assume Jack Randall afore Frank Randall. It won't happen again though."

Claire turned to Jamie, "What should we tell your sister and Ian? They're in mourning and I don't want to disrupt their lives."

"It's fine, Claire, but we should decide what to tell them as we canna introduce Frank as yer other husband."

Claire shook her head, "No, we can't. And Frank, just so you're aware, Jenny had a bad encounter with Jack Randall, so just be prepared for her reaction when she sees you."

Concern overshadowed Frank's face. "Did he assault her? With just burying a child, I don't want to add to her discomfort."

Jamie waved him off, "I'll explain things. Can we just say yer the brother of Claire's first husband? It should suffice fer explaining yer traveling together and yer concern for the bairn."

Frank rolled his eyes, "Brother of the first husband," he repeated, obviously displeased. "And you're the…never mind. Fine."

"The bairn!" Claire said in a flourish of excitement and sprinted over to the horse to retrieve the bag that Mrs. Graham had packed for her. "Jamie, a friend of mine packed this satchel for me while we were searching for Brianna in 1955. I found that she sent something you might like to see." Claire pulled out a small framed color photograph that Mrs. Graham had thoughtfully packed and that Claire had found on the second night.

"I can't show you this up at the house, of course, but I want you to see it," Claire handed over the photo. "This is your daughter. This is Brianna."

Jamie grew wide-eyed and his eyes darted to Claire's face and then down at the photo.

"It's not a drawing or a painting," Claire explained. "It's her exact likeness."

Jamie put a tentative finger to the photo, tracing the outline of her form. "The lass…she's bonny. She's so verra bonny." He sniffed loudly, "I've wondered about her…and you a thousand times. Nay, ten times ten thousand times. I canna believe all the miracles this day has brought me." He smiled down at the image his little girl. "Yer right. She's got me hair."

"And a fiery temper to match," Claire added.

"Aye, I can see the Fraser spark of mischief in her eyes. Can I keep this—in secret like?"

Claire gifted him with a broad smile, "Of course."

"Thank ye," Jamie pulled Claire into a hug and kissed her hair.

Feeling completely extraneous and out-maneuvered, Frank could only turn around and look away in frustration.

A few moments later, Frank heard the Scot's voice calling him and he slowly turned around, a sullen expression on his face.

"Thank ye too Frank. I'm beholdin' to ye. I'll no be forgettin' the debt I owe ye."

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As the three approached the stone archway with the Fraser family crest overhead, Jamie turned to Claire, "Lemme go in first and prepare Jenny regardin' Frank's appearance and no be troubled. It'll make things easier."

Claire nodded, "Is there anything I can do for her regarding wee Jamie?"

He just shook his head.

Allowing Jamie the head start afforded Claire an opportunity to look around Lallybroch which had obviously fallen on hard times since she was last here. The estate was never flush with cash and plenty, but meager offerings and the Laird's absence for many years were apparent in the missing roof shingles and the protruding rib bones of the few cattle grazing nearby.

Jenny emerged at the front entrance, her belly full with another child. "Claire, I've missed you verra much—especially the smile ye inspire on my brother's face. I didna know when he said you were gone if he meant gone for good, but I kept hopin' that ye would show up one day as mysteriously as ye left. And it seems I was correct, showing up with this curious gentleman," she turned to indicate Frank, "that my brother assures me may be like Captain Randall in looks, but no in disposition. I hope me brother is right or he'll likely be fertilizing our vegetable garden afore the next full moon."

Claire squeezed Jenny tighter, "Believe me, Frank is nothing like Jack. Oh it is so good to see you again and I was so sorry to hear about your boy. You have my deepest condolences. I know because of Jamie's and my Faith that although gone, you will always keep him in your heart. I always think of Faith on her birthday and when I see little girls that would be her age. And yet, I can't imagine how difficult it would be for you. You know wee Jamie's laugh and his smile and his personality. I feel my offerings and my words are so small, yet they are truly meant."

"I know, me dear sister. Tonight, let's celebrate yer homecoming."

Jamie cut in, "It canna be too much as we leave on the morrow. Our daughter is missing. Claire came here hoping for help—never expecting to find me here, thinking I had fallen at Culloden."

Jenny looked at Claire wounded, "Ye have a child by me brother, me own flesh, and never thought to write me and tell me? A letter woulda found its way to Lallybroch I'm sure."

Claire looked saddened that she had offended her sister-in-law, "I couldn't Jenny. I would have, but…"

"But, ye have yer secrets," Jenny turned to Frank, "which I'm sure include ye in some way, Mr…"

"Frank Randall," Frank offered.

Jenny threw her brother a look; she didn't understand all the complications that Claire brought with her, but Jamie trusted her and her advice had saved the farm during the famine, so she just rolled along with it. "Randall? Perfect," she replied with a slight hint of sarcastic resignation. "Mrs. Crook, would ye show Mr. Randall to one of the guest rooms? Claire can find her own way back to the Laird's room, I'm sure."

Jamie broke in, "Lady Lallybroch also will be staying in one of the guest rooms—at present."

Jenny turned to Jamie with an astonished look and Claire silently thanked him for making an awkward and near impossible situation slightly better by speaking up as the Laird.

Jenny was still as forthright as ever, "Ye canna mean that, brother. The way ye two would go on fer hours? Ye think the whole house couldna hear and ken what yer doing?"

Jamie gave a side glance at Frank and hoped that would be the end of his sister's embarrassing questions. "I'm sure I ken me wife's mind well enough. Thank ye Jenny. And thank ye Mrs. Crook for showing both Mr. Randall and Lady Lallybroch to some guest quarters."

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Claire was desperate for a change of clothes and washing the outfit that Mrs. Graham had given her before they set out again from Lallybroch. Despite Claire's best preemptory efforts, the dress was far gone with the smell of sweat and the road. She didn't know when might be her next opportunity for a washing and had very gratefully borrowed one of Jenny's outfits while her outfit was quickly laundered for the morning.

It also felt strange for her to shift focus from the everpresent worry about her daughter and the sublime occurrences of seeing Jamie, knowing he was alive and free, and he finally got to learn of his daughter and see her image and then to now shift to the mundane of smelly clothes.

Even Frank and Jamie meeting each other did not seem as unbearably awful and tempestuous as she would have thought. They were both civil to each other and seeming to respect the necessary boundaries created by this singular situation.

As a teenager, she remembered seeing some of the black-and-white Hollywood movies in which a woman was pursued and loved by two men. Twenty years earlier, it had seemed so romantic and dramatic and yet now that she was dealing with the reality, it just felt awful. She knew that someone was going to get hurt and she knew who that would likely be and that inevitability would hurt her too. And she had promised herself that she never wanted to hurt him again. And yes, it would be painful and awful, but at least it would finally be an ending—an ending that they had been avoiding for years.

She wanted her life with Jamie; despite the intervening years with Frank, she still felt like she belonged to Jamie. But wanting and having were two different things. There was a wall between them now. She needed to take some time and just stare at the wall, hoping that Jamie and their future was on the other side. Claire needed to decide what to do about that wall.

All the walls that she and Jamie had needed to overcome during their marriage had been cultural differences due to the time travel or external ones. She had never thrown down roadblocks and had never determinedly turned away from him. She was amazed that after everything she had gone through just to be with him that she was finding herself in that position now—she wasn't in the Laird's room where she knew she belonged. It was only fair though; she owed Frank far more than just a passing consideration.

Claire looked out the window and spied her dashing husband seeing to the horses for the travel tomorrow and to their tack and feed. It was a minor, almost trivial consideration that she almost felt bad thinking it, but she missed seeing her husband in his kilt. She hoped he still had one and that she could prevail upon him to wear it sometimes indoors for her. Imagining that, remembering times in the past set her ablaze until she was interrupted by a knocking at the door.

She schooled her features to appear more placid, but when Frank saw her, he knew her well enough to not be fooled.

"May I come in?" he asked politely though.

She gestured him in and he entered, looked at the surroundings for a bit before glancing out the window and noticing her view. His face turned to disappointment.

"I think we should talk," he began, "about the developments of today."

Claire nodded, "Jamie…"

Frank interrupted her, "I mean about Jack Randall."

"Jack Randall?" she repeated, confused.

"I realize there was much that you were prepared to tell me when you came back and much that I did not want to hear. I will own my part of that. I should have allowed you to speak more. If I had, I would have learned how closely I resemble him. I would have learned what he did to you. Well, I'm here now and ready to listen. Will you tell me what he did?"

Claire was thrown by the direction Frank was taking this. Today they had learned that Jamie was alive and free. Today, he had met Jamie. And yet he preferred to talk about dead Jack Randall?

"He threatened twice to rape me, but I was saved both times. First by Murtagh—dear me, I haven't asked Jamie about Murtagh!—and the second time by Jamie. However, from what I now know, he would strip women bare to humiliate them and to embarrass their menfolk that looked helplessly on. That's what he did to Jenny in front of Jamie when he was but 19. He punched me in the stomach too once, so hard that I fell to the ground, fighting to regain my breath and he ordered a corporal to kick me in the stomach. At Fort William, he stripped off my top and grabbed my breast. I felt some strange connection to you in that moment as though this time and our time were strangely joined—I know it's bizarre, I suppose I just wanted to dissociate myself from what he was doing and try to make a better connection. As to the attempted rapes though, in truth, I doubt I was in danger of actual rape by him—his interests laid elsewhere," she spat out bitterly.

Frank took her hand in his, "Do you see him when you look at me?"

Claire gave him a long look. This conversation was too similar to the conversation with Jamie by the haystacks to be coincidence. In that moment, Claire knew that Frank had listened in on her reunion with Jamie.

"When you first saw me in the hospital and I cringed, it's because I saw you as Jack Randall. It has happened other times as well, but that first instance was the most vivid."

Claire looked down at their joined hands; he had moved closer to her so that their bodies touched.

His voice dropped lower, "Now that I know and understand, so much can change between us."

Claire bit her lip, "Frank, please, let's keep our focus on Brianna right now."

Frank put his finger beneath her chin and edged it up to create the best angle to kiss her. Realizing his intention, she quickly turned her face away, "I'm sorry."

Frank immediately dropped her hand, "What? You'll kiss _him_ and not me?"

"Frank, it's not that simple."

"It is too that simple. You are still my wife and I may—may!—be willing to share you _for the present_. However, don't treat me as though I'm nothing to you. I deserve more than that. Now let's start again, please."

Impossible situations. Craigh na Dun had given rise to so many impossible situations. Here was one more.

Claire scanned the room, desperately hoping to find something to ease the unbearable tension. "I'm sorry Frank. I just can't."

Frank took a step toward her, put his hands on her cheeks, and gave her a passionate, possessive kiss anyway, his hands veering for her breasts. Claire stood there frozen for a moment, unbelieving that Frank was actually doing this—betraying the trust that they had re-established over the last seven years.

Claire pushed at Frank's chest. Feeling her struggle, Frank came back to reality, pulled out of the kiss and looked into Claire's face. Hideous realization washed over him, the shock on his face as plain as on hers.

He stepped back, "Oh God, I'm sorry. I'm profoundly sorry. I regret that. I'm not Jack Randall though. I'd never hurt you. You must know that."

Claire who had been standing frozen, except for a slight tremble in her hands, now felt compelled to action. She lifted her right hand and brought it hard against his face.

The sound of the slap reverberated through the bedroom and Claire flinched; she'd done that harder than she'd intended.

Frank did not flinch though. He stood still, feeling the sting of her slap still across his cheek. He didn't bring his hand to his cheek or bite his lip, he let a few tears fall and they remained on his reddened cheek, unchecked. "I shouldn't have kissed you like that, but I didn't deserve to get slapped either. When you came back to me, you made promises and I took a leap of faith with you. Don't you dare tell me all that is negated now."

Claire took a step back, widening the distance between them even more, "I said that I can't. After the week of searching and not knowing about our daughter, I realize that today has been a…a…trying, emotional day and Brianna is still missing…"

"I know she's missing," Frank spat out. "I love that little girl and I'm in hell too if my feelings still matter at all to you. Maybe they don't, maybe it doesn't matter now that you've got yourself one husband too many. She is still my daughter and I'm the only father she's ever known. If you think I'm just going to stand aside and let any other man steal my wife or my daughter, then you are wrong."

Claire steeled herself for giving an aggressive response; this argument was quickly flaring into a conflagration.

Frank, seeing Claire adopting a battle pose, calmed himself, "You're correct of course. The stress is overwhelming me. I miss Brianna, I'm scared for her, and I just don't want to picture what is happening to her. Please, just try to not make things worse for me."

Claire took another step backwards, feeling half guilty and half incensed that he was blaming her. She forgot the presence of a little side table. She knocked it over and sent a little glass box crashing to the floor.

She immediately heard boots pounding on the stairs towards them and a second later, the door crashed open.

"Are ye okay?" Jamie asked, out of breath. Question asked and answer apparent, he took stock of the surroundings, Frank's presence, and the thick tension in the room.

Jamie asked again with a different meaning this time, "Are ye okay Claire?"

Frank spoke up, "Sorry about your little knick-knack, but we're fine and you're interrupting."

Jamie wasn't mollified on Frank's say-so, "Claire?"

She gave him an unconvincing smile, "We're okay, Jamie."

At that, Jamie gave her a long look and stepped back to the threshold of the room and closed the door.

The sound of that door closing was one of the loneliest sounds Claire had ever known.


	7. Chapter 7

_Periodic disclaimer-not author/producer of Outlander._

 _Rating reminder: T with adult themes (although if you watch the TV show, this is rather tame in comparison)_

* * *

Chapter 7

Dinner that evening was early and quick. The plan was for the three to sleep for a few hours and then set off just after midnight with sunrise coming at about four of the clock. The meal was a sad affair with none of the frivolity that normally accompanied Fraser gatherings. Jenny and Ian were still mired in their grief over the loss of their first-born. The mission for tomorrow's impending trip was felt heavily with Brianna's absence, and the jubilation of Jamie's and Claire's reunion had mellowed into melancholy as Jamie shared news of his kin and clansmen.

Frank, troubled by his changes in fortune, stayed silent and had nothing to contribute. These weren't his people or his family. He was merely tolerated out of deference to Claire. Back at Craigh na Dun, he had grabbed on to Claire at that crucial moment because he did not want to get left behind once more. He had been determined to come along, come what may, and somehow the fates had granted him entrance through the stones. He wasn't sure why and thought it may have been because of his curious resemblance to Black Jack Randall who had apparently played such a cataclysmic role in all these lives. His resemblance to the English captain seemed even stranger now that he learned that he wasn't even a direct descendant, but related through Jack's brother instead. He wasn't sure if that curious coincidence played a part in his ability to travel back with Claire.

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Jenny cornered Jamie after dinner as he was headed up to bed to get a few hours sleep, "Wha' are ye doin' brother?"

Jamie didn't want to get into this argument tonight and was deliberately obtuse, "I'm goin' a bed. G'night, Jenny."

Jenny wouldn't release him that easily, "I mean about Claire and that guest of hers that she brought into yer home and made ye play nice to. If that twin of Satan's spawn is her brother-in-law then I'm a virginal nun. I can see the way he looks at her. He's bedded her and intends to do it again soon and certainly intends that ye no get in his way."

Jamie decided to concede a bit of truth to her, knowing that it wouldn't go further, "Yer right, I ken he's not the brother-in-law, but that's the story we are going to tell folks," he answered back in a hissed whisper. "I ken the full truth and he can stay under my roof- -for now. Claire has never lied to me though I ken that her secrets compel us to lie to everyone else. Now trust me…"

Jenny broke in, "I won't have ye a cuckold under ye own roof."

"I'm not!" Jamie bit back. "I thank ye for yer concern, but Claire is still my wife and done nothin' to be ashamed fer. I wonna have ye attackin' her neither. Tell me that ye havena and that ye won't."

Jenny looked about ready to yield, but she had one more thing she wanted to say, "She gave me her dress for washin' and I never see anything like it. The stitchin' was so small that it would make a lady go blind to sew it. And it had some sort of extra bit of cloth at the back of the neck with the words, 'Hecho en Mexico' and the only place I ever heard about that was Nueva Espańa south of the American colonies. Is that where Claire's been?"

Jamie shook his head, "Look, if- -when we find Brianna and bring her back here safely, then hopefully everything will be settled as I want. If so, then I'll consider tellin' ye the whole truth. But for now sister, let me a bed."

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It was midnight and the rambunctious house had quieted down a few hours earlier. Jamie quietly rapped on Claire's door to wake her and he almost immediately heard her feet hit the floor before he went to the next door to rouse Frank.

Five minutes later they were standing in the barnyard with the satchels tied to the saddles. They were only taking two horses. Claire and Frank would share one again-a prospect that Frank was looking forward to and he hoped it galled Fraser.

Jamie told them, "Let's keep quiet and be on our way quickly," he then leaned in close to Claire, the proximity making him temporarily forget himself and instead relishing the long-denied ability to be close to her. "We should be quick and quiet. Fergus came back two hours ago from the field with the cattle and he's sleeping in the barn until daybreak. I donna want him seeing Frank without being prepared for him. Being a wee lad at the time, he was hurt worst of all by Jack."

Claire remembered those dark days in Paris and how much both Jamie and Fergus had been hurt. She consoled the only one she could and put her arms around Jamie in a comforting hug. She wanted to see Fergus, the boy she'd considered her other child, and engulf him in a hug too. But Jamie was right, seeing Claire would mean seeing Frank and that should be avoided until longer explanations could be made. Besides, Fergus was now a man of twenty and she had a little girl of seven to find.

Seeing the hug, Frank audibly harrumphed and she groaned at his petulance. He was also anxious to put some miles between them and Lallybroch.

Frank cut in and said, "Shall we begin?"

Claire could feel Jamie stiffen at his words and noticed his heart rated doubled through his chest.

.

.

 _"Shall we begin?" Jack whispered in a husky voice behind him after he had cut up the back of his shirt. The voice, Jamie assumed, was meant to sound alluring and domineering. The dungeon was dark and cold and the pain in his ruined hand couldn't fully deviate him from the reality of what was happening to him._

 _The sick bastard was luxuriating in feeling, kissing, tongueing his back and Jamie just wanted to go forward in time. He wanted to go far, far forward so that this hellish night was a distant memory. Jamie had never really seen what his back looked like-straining around while peering at a looking glass could only show so much-and it galled him that all these random people at Dougal's meetings and now this worst scum could see his back fully, knew his body in a way that he never could. And he knew, intellectually, what the blackguard would do. He knew the motions the scum would go through. He knew he would be penetrated, violated, but God help him, he hoped he had the strength to not be broken._

.

.

Within the span of five heartbeats, Jamie had Frank thrown to the ground, his dirk unsheathed, and ready to strike.

Claire was upon them almost as quickly and stopped Jamie from thrusting a damaging blow.

"Jamie, what happened?" she pressed, kneeling down at Frank's side. "I was right here; Frank didn't do anything."

"Yea, what the hell is wrong with you?" Frank asked, far louder than Claire, not thinking of the sleeping household. "If you really want to make Claire a widow, just tell me now and I'll stay far the hell away from you, you crazy son-of-a-.."

"Frank!" Claire implored.

Jamie looked at Claire, to Frank, to the dirk still in his palm. He dropped the dagger instantly, repulsed at it.

"I'm sorry. I'm really verra sorry," Jamie was focusing on steadying his trembling hands. He wanted to punch a wall or something. Jack Randall had been dead and rotting for seven years. He hardly ever thought about the cold-hearted monster anymore.

Until Frank.

Until Frank's voice had spoken Jack's words and with Jack's voice and with Jack's face and Jamie had been instantly transported back to that dark dungeon and his singular night of hell.

Jamie tried to give a half-way decent explanation without revealing all, "I'm sorry. Ye did nothin'. I just heard ye behind me and it sounded like Jack and his words. I ken ye not him," after a momentary pause, Jamie added, "I am more in ye debt now."

With his explanation, Claire fully understood Jamie's reaction although not the context. She left Frank's side, knowing he'd be insulted and offended, and slowly approached Jamie. She knew that Jamie was no longer lost in the memory and she put her hand softly on his cheek-only comfort, only compassion, no pity, no judgment.

Once Jamie was calmed and brought back to equilibrium, Claire knew the best thing for him was to just move on and get going. She urged him to mount up on his horse, which Jamie reluctantly did, still feeling profoundly embarrassed about the attack.

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 _Musings in the saddles_

* * *

Jamie found the rest of the day was thankfully uneventful as they made good time towards Inverness. It was a windy day; constantly blowing his red hair into his eyes. The cool air was creating foggy mists over the mountains and descending into the valley, signaling that there might be rain that night.

On the journey, Jamie did regret that they only brought two horses instead of three. Frank was doing fine riding with Claire and probably could've handled a horse on his own. He had figured that any delay would not be good for finding Brianna as she had gone missing more than a week before and all of Claire's and Frank's searches had turned up nothing. For getting to Brianna as quickly as possible, two horses was for the best as Frank couldn't slow them down. However, Frank was sidling up to Claire as close as possible. When Claire would scoot forward to make more room, then he would scoot up behind her so that he was almost digging into her arse. Claire would then scoot more and now she was riding so far forward, she was almost straddling the poor horse's neck.

Claire was acting quite tolerant and didn't turn around to chastise the man as Jamie silently encouraged her to do. His vantage point also gave him an opportunity to just unashamedly stare at her; she was as beautiful as ever. The second round of childbirth and intervening years did not show on her face or body. Her chest was heaving from exertion and Jamie tried not to stare at the rhythmic bouncing of her breasts; the thoughts were making the saddle uncomfortable. Claire's eyes blazed with stubbornness, frustration, and worry. Her green and white dress hugged her body showing the curves, valleys, and contours that he knew so well and that his hands had ghosted over nearly every day since Jamie had sent her back through the stones.

Jamie didn't know if Frank was trying to rile him up or trying some method that seemed wholly unlike Frank in order to seduce her or smother her through closeness. If it were any other man but Frank, anyone besides 'the other husband', then Jamie would have dragged the man off the horse and pummeled him into the dust. But Jamie kept out of their business as he knew that Claire would prefer to handle it on her own. Frank was her first husband, he had known her longer, and seen her through more years. He didn't want a competition; this wasn't shinty. Jamie offered only himself and Claire would either accept him or reject him on the basis of himself.

The three traveled quickly, at a steady gallop and Jamie felt a surge of pride that Claire handled her and Frank's horse as well as he did and easily kept up with Jamie on his mare. She hadn't lost any of her riding skills in the last seven years in which she probably had few opportunities to mount a horse.

Traveling, even fast and focused and in pursuit of the unknown whereabouts of his only child that he had never even met, was still tedious and solitary. The pace did not allow for easy conversation and this was not an easy task before them. Yet, he was still forced to spend too much time with his thoughts and in quiet reflection as the miles and hours laid behind and before him.

The distressing attack he'd made back at Lallybroch could not escape his mind either. It was only words, just three little irrelevant words that Frank had spoken, but those words and that voice had sent him careening back to the dungeon and to the second worst day of his life.

His introduction to Frank yesterday and his resemblance to Black Jack Randall had resurrected all the old pain and shame. Jamie remembered comments by other men that if a woman had been raped, then she was somehow ruined and unworthy. He had never felt that, not about Claire or any woman, and yet for a long time, he couldn't help but think about that for himself. He felt that the person he had been before was gone forever, and that some important part of himself was murdered that night. He'd clawed his way back from the darkness and shadows and with Jack's death, thought that the blackguard's ownership over him was forever gone. However, this morning had proven that Jack still infected and invaded his consciousness. He could _still_ feel Jack's hands, Jack's tongue, Jack's touch. He could still remember those early days afterwards when he felt so alone and broken. The pain from his torture was almost irrelevant in comparison. Jamie resented that Jack could still do this to him-could still make him remember.

Jamie knew he would need to be more vigilant against those instinctual reactions in the future. He had promised Frank yesterday that holding his knife at the man's throat at their initial meeting was a one-time incident and yet less than a day later he had gone back on his word.

Jamie glanced over at Claire for the hundredth time that hour. He just couldn't stop looking at her after believing for seven long and hellish years that he'd never see her again. There were so many things he wanted to say to her, but he couldn't. They needed the focus to stay on the search for Brianna and, besides, Frank was there, sitting behind her in the saddle. He didn't know how things would end with the three of them and he fretted he would lose her again and relive the pain of the worst day of his life once more.

* * *

Claire felt guilty for pulling back from both Frank and Jamie. But then she castigated herself for focusing on their grown-up drama. Brianna was missing. BRIANNA WAS MISSING. She could be sick, hurt, ill-used, being dragged by some abusive Jack-type…. She stopped herself. This line of thought would make her go mad and it couldn't be fixed. She had nightmares enough about it. She couldn't contemplate the possibilities right now while she was awake or she wouldn't be able to focus on the task at hand and that was now the top priority. Keep up with Jamie. Get back to Inverness and continue the search. If her thoughts should stray from the road before her, let it be thoughts about Jamie and Frank instead of, for her sanity's sake, about her fears regarding Brianna's fate.

She thought about her miraculous reunion with Jamie yesterday. She had wanted to run into his arms. But she had to fix herself and the reality of her multiple marriages first.

She just wanted to be with Jamie. They were close; closer than she and Frank had ever been. Jamie had always been open and honest with her. He had allowed her fully into his life and into the most hidden recesses of his heart. He had married her and gone against his culture and upbringing and treated her as his equal. He had loved her unconditionally and they had forged this unique, almost unfathomable connection and she understood now that she had originally gone through the stones with the purpose of meeting him. He was her soul-mate, her destiny, and the fates or fairies or whoever was responsible for her travel did not want the simple obstacle of two hundred years separation in time to keep them apart.

Regardless of how Claire tried to diminish her feelings for Frank-since they were a pale shadow of her love for Jamie-she cared deeply for him. As tough and seemingly cruel as it was, she needed to get right with this quandary and work through it instead of pushing away her feelings because it was painful. She hated this. She hated causing Frank pain but she didn't know a better way out of this dilemma except to just go through it.

Frank had unfailingly, unconditionally stood by her since she had returned and he had learned about her other marriage and her repeated assertions of her 'great love' for this other man. In the hospital, even before he learned the truth and he didn't understand where she had been or why she had left, he had still rushed to her side and arranged for their stay with Rev. Wakefield. She knew these past seven years and especially these last few days had been damn, damn hard for him. He sometimes kept himself remote emotionally and she strongly suspected that Frank had stepped outside their marriage, and yet he had always endeavored to provide her and Brianna a loving home. That had to count for something too.

* * *

Frank, this morning, had thought he would enjoy sharing the saddle with Claire. He had figured it would be as close as he would get to her for a while and he relished the irritated looks his proximity had solicited from Fraser.

However, he was finding only emptiness and loneliness in the physical closeness. He was, try as he might, unable to forge an emotional closeness as well. It was as fulfilling and engaging as a one-night-stand. He could feel Claire and Brianna slipping away from him and he recognized that the family he had created over the last seven years was gone. It hadn't been perfect or even great before, but at least it had still been _his_ —his wife, his daughter, his family. And now it just wasn't.

Claire owed him and he knew that she knew this as well. How much could he guilt her? How much could he shame her? How much could he impose on her for the sake of fairness? How much of a Randall was he really?

Frank's thoughts turned to that strange incident before they left Lallybroch. He had said something completely innocuous and gotten knocked flat on his back for it. With Fraser's abbreviated explanation, he understood that apparently he reminded Fraser of something evil that his ancestor had done.

With that explanation, Claire seemed to immediately know and understand what had precipitated the man's bizarre reaction. More secrets. More things hidden from him. If he shared Captain Randall's face, and apparently his voice too, then he deserved to know what dastardly deeds he was being made to suffer for.

His mind started veering down dark paths—if Fraser was attacking him and wounding him, then he should be able to make Fraser suffer in return. That thought worried him. He enjoyed his imaginings too much. His ancestor was taunting him. Black Jack Randall would never have endured such treatment and allowed it to go unanswered. Frank had tried to be nice and good and follow all the laws of God and man and was losing his family anyway. He had always felt intrigued by his ancestor, Captain Black Jack Randall. Being here, back in his time and with people who had known him, he could feel that connection growing stronger. The spirit of his ancestor was awakening.

Frank tried to shake off those thoughts. He needed to get a grip. He needed Brianna. He needed to hold her and then everything would feel fine again. He needed to act normal and hopefully he would then feel normal too.

* * *

A few hours later, Jamie could no longer endure the silence and monotony that had pervaded their journey thus far. All those hours, they were each enduring their own personal hell, each contemplating horrific scenarios, but politeness and a need to avoid reality had kept their conversations on anything but Brianna.

Jamie had been left to his own thoughts for too long and seized on a safe topic, but also one that he desperately wanted to know more about.

"Please, Claire and Frank," he began, determined to make the man feel included, "please tell me about Brianna. Her personality, her likes, her mischief. I want to ken everything that I've missed."


	8. Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8

Several hours later, after the sun had set for the short summer night, Jamie called a respite. "Horses need a break and we need a few hours of sleep. Claire, I can see yer starting to topple off yer horse."

Claire smiled at the memory of their first meeting when _he_ had been about to topple off his horse, but waved off the suggestion, "I'm fine, I can keep going. Or I can switch places with Frank and he can take the reins, I think he's capable enough now, aren't you?"

Frank nodded of course, his masculine pride would not allow him to do otherwise.

Jamie, as the unopposed leader of their journey, decreed the break, "We need to stop for the horses' sake. They canna go on like this."

With that need reiterated, Claire conceded the necessity to stop for a few hours. They all fell into a restless and uncomfortable sleep, lying on the hard ground with one side of their body warmed by the fire while the other side got cold.

An hour into this attempt at sleep, Claire began whimpering and tossing. Jamie awoke and prodded her awake.

"Sassenach, Sassenach," he whispered. "Were ye having a nightmare love?"

Claire jolted awake fully and realized that she was having a bad dream. She nodded, "About Brianna, she was so cold and she was calling out to me, 'Mummy, mummy, why won't you answer me?' This is just killing me Jamie—the not knowing. I don't know what I'd do without you."

Jamie glanced over at Frank sleeping nearby. He half-rose and offered Claire his hand. "We should move a bit aways. We donna want to waken Frank with our talkin'."

Claire nodded and put her hand in his. As they walked about fifty paces away, Jamie held on to Claire, soothing her hair and trying to calm her emotions.

Jamie looked down at their interlocked hands, and brought hers up to his lips, "I loved hearing all of yer and Frank's stories about Brianna. The lass is quite a spitfire, isn't she?"

Speaking of Brianna brought worried tears and fresh memories of her nightmare back to Claire, "Yes, she certainly is. And she can argue and argue with you about the least thing. She has her own ideas that things need to be just so. I've always thought it the Fraser stubbornness rearing its head."

"Aye? Ye think me stubborn Sassenach? I ken that's more a Beauchamp trait if anything."

Claire giggled, the euphonious tones making Jamie feel grateful once more and he tightened his hug around her.

"I've dreamed of this day for so long when I might see ye, hold ye, and hear yer voice," Jamie began. "Through the interminable days in the cave or the prison. Through the mistreatment and starvation, through watching my clansmen and people die of sickness, starvation, or ill-treatment. At those times, I'd cover me ears and think only of the past—our past. I never looked to the future, because even if I was released it would still be without ye. I would always look backwards to the past—anything to block out the present. Sometimes, during the long nights in the prison, I swear I could feel the curve of yer body, the feeling of ye beneath me, the cadence and sweet tone of yer words. I'd think of our daughter and imagine what she would look like.. I'd think of the adult she'd become. I tried not to think about ye with Frank." Jamie stopped and looked at her. "I endured those long prison years because of ye. I endured…. I endured…. I just endured."

Claire couldn't speak her response right away; her emotions were all in a tangled mess. She could only respond by caressing him, by maintaining the physical connection. After a long moment, she did find her voice again, "Darling, I cannot bear to think of all you went through these last years. I feel ashamed for feeling sorry for myself because I was torn from you, but at least I was comfortable, safe, and I had Brianna. I had this amazing daughter to care for and a precious little bit of you to hold me. And as for Frank and me…."

Jamie moved so he was cradling her in his arms, her back to his broad chest, and interrupted her, "Sassenach, through all of that, I learned that almost nothing lasts. My clan and kin, heartbreak, even mind-crushing, soul-breaking pain—they all end, they are all fleeting, they are all temporary. What endures—what will last until I finally do die—is the sense of duty I feel towards Lallybroch, my clan, and kin, and most importantly, the deep passion and love that I will always have for ye and our two lasses. Nothing else matters. When yer held captive, when all that matters is survival, then quaint and abstract notions like fidelity and modesty quickly vanish. So truly, and I mean this in all sincerity, it is irrelevant to me that ye and Frank shared yer bodies with each other after ye went back through the stones. Ye did as I asked and let me go and ye say he's been a good father too. I canna fault ye for that now. I will never blame ye nor hold ye to account for it."

Claire was reticent about raising the other topic on her mind, but she pushed forward anyway, "Jamie, about what happened yesterday morning at Lallybroch between you and Frank—can you talk about?"

Jamie's face downturned and he backed a bit so his face receded into shadow, "Donna fash. I ken that Jack has been dead and gone seven years and I've long since put what happened, particularly at Wentworth behind me—I thought I had at least. I have been fine, truly, it's merely Frank's resemblance to Jack that is making me think on him once more. I will handle it."

Jamie paused to look up the stars blanketing the night sky, He spotted Orion, the hunter, close to the horizon, almost due east. He scanned the western sky and spotted Scorpio, Orion's eternal nemesis. The two were locked in an timeless struggle, always destined to circle each other around the heavens. They would never come to a resolution; one would never be victorious, the other never defeated. He projected that battle back onto himself and Jack. Although long since dead and dust, he wondered how long his heroic, loving side would have to continue fighting against his inner demons spawned by his experiences with Black Jack Randall. Jamie wondered if that man would also never be defeated within his mind and would be endlessly circling around him, following him until he was dead and dust as well.

By coincidence, Claire broke the silence of his musings at that moment to point to the Orion constellation. "In America, in the 1950s when I was torn away from you and I believed you lost to me forever, I liked to look up into the night sky, find Orion and imagine that was you looking out for Brianna and me. Of course now I know that you weren't, that you couldn't have been and that you were here this whole time. And I wouldn't have it any other way."

"Isn't this cozy. I hope I'm not interrupting."

The biting tone behind them startled Claire and she jumped to her feet.

"Frank," she said calmly, hoping he wouldn't escalate this.

"Yes?" His voice sounded sarcastic, part vicious, part hurt.

Jamie stayed seated on the ground at present, his head down and looking away, thinking it best to not engage with Frank unless his actions proved it necessary.

"I had a nightmare," she explained.

"Of course."

"About Brianna."

"I'm sure."

Claire scanned around her, hoping to find something to redirect the conversation, "Well, since you're awake now, we should continue on soon. Do you agree?" When no reply came, she added, "Frank?"

"Fine."

Only then did Jamie lift his head and rise to his feet, "Frank will you help me with the horses while Claire breaks camp?"

With his sullen look still plastered on his face, Frank gestured his assent and for Jamie to lead the way.

CF-JF CF-JF CF-JF CF-JF

The sun had scarcely ascended over the treetops when the motley trio reached the crofts on the outskirts of Inverness. Their plan was to inquire only with the Highlanders that Jamie knew as they would be far more inclined to be open with information. If unsuccessful, they would head for Inverness as the central point and most efficient way to ask many people within a day or two. They figured this would work better than circling around the town towards Craigh na Dun as Claire's and Frank's search there earlier had not yielded anything useful.

The tension was thick that morning and Frank sat far, far back in the saddle away from Claire whereas yesterday he had been crowding her.

Jamie could see that Claire was trying to engage Frank in conversation, but he couldn't make out the words and Frank didn't seem too receptive, giving mostly monosyllabic answers.

They cantered into Inverness in mid-afternoon. They had stopped and Jamie questioned people he knew at three dwellings that were on the route from Lallybroch to Inverness. Reaching town, they checked in first with the apothecary that Claire had spoken to earlier in the week when it was just her and Frank.

When the three walked into his shop, Claire immediately noticed his downcast face when he spotted her.

"Mistress Fraser, it is good to see you and the Laird once more," he turned to Frank, "I'm sorry sir, I canna 'member your name."

"Doesn't matter," Frank muttered, his mood not improved since the early morning.

"Ye asked me Tuesday past if I heard of any red-haired lassies about seven year of age."

"Yes, have you heard anything?" Claire prodded.

"I have, mistress. A young lass was found in the loch this morning, near-drowned and bad off with the grippe."

Claire gasped and her knees gave way. Both Frank and Jamie moved to catch her swaying form and she ended up in Frank's arms. He cleared the tendrils that fell into her face.

Jamie, seeing Frank tending to Claire and whispering calming words in her ear, turned back to the apothecary, "What more news is there about the lass? She is alive no?"

"Aye, but only just. She was brought in to the rectory and being cared for there. They'll keep her 'til Sunday next in case inquiries are made by her kin."

Jamie wanted to be sure there was no additional news, "And that is all ye heard. Not just about this poor wee lass, but any other as well?"

The apothecary shook his head.

"Please keep yer eyes and ears open for us. We are sure obligeed to ye, sir."

They were headed towards the shop's door when Jamie turned back, "The rectory—it's still…"

"Aye, corner of High Street and Bank Street, sir."

"Thank ye," Jamie said to the man in parting and then addressed Frank after they crossed the threshold, "Are ye well with Claire?"

"Yes, I have her," Frank responded still holding onto her and guiding her onto the city street.

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They reached the rectory on the banks of the River Ness within twenty minutes. During that time, Claire hadn't said a word, focusing instead on putting one foot in front of the other and needing Frank's help to do that. When they reached the doorstep,

Frank leaned over to address Jamie, "I want to see the little girl first. I'll be able to identify her." Frank stopped speaking at that moment, tears starting to overwhelm him. "And I want Claire to know the truth about the little girl—if it's Brianna or not before she sees her.."

Jamie nodded, "I agree. Ye see first to the lass."

The housekeeper at the rectory was quite perfunctory. When the three entered, Jamie announced that they heard of the wee lass injured in the loch and that Claire had healing expertise, the old lady said little and just walked them back to the girl's room with little ceremony.

The housekeeper groaned, "Well, I suppose I can walk you there myself. I hope ye can recognize her kin. "

"Aye, please."

Fifty paces away, they reached the door. They all stopped and stared at the door for a long moment.

"Frank?" Jamie prompted.

Frank hesitated though; if that was Brianna, sick or hurt then he'd lose his last traces of self-control. He'd go to the army, get some explosives, and blast those damnable stones at Craigh na Dun into a million pieces. He didn't know what that would mean about future happenings and time paradox, but at this point, he just didn't care. "Yes, I'm going."

Claire spoke up; she had felt distraught before upon hearing the news about this little girl, but the little girl was still alive. There was hope. "I don't need to wait for you to identify her and then tell me. I can go in with you and see her."

"I really think you should,"

"Frank, I'm not a fragile doll. I can handle this…I've handled worse," Claire added though she did not specify what could be worse than what laid beyond that door.

Claire pushed open the door and they saw an ashen-faced, red-haired girl lying in the bed. She rushed to the bedside and the lass's sickly appearance made it difficult to tell immediately if it was Brianna or not.

"It's not her. She's not Brianna," Claire heard Frank say from the doorway. "There's no scar on the right hand from when she fell off her bike last year."

Claire picked up the girl's hand and carefully examined it. She then lifted the girl's left hand and felt for a pulse and then migrated to the girl's forehead.

She lifted the girl's closed eyelids and checked the pupil response, noticing the brown—not blue—irises.

"Claire?" Jamie pressed for confirmation, "Is the lass Brianna?"

Claire shook her head, "No, but I can help her though. I can't just leave her. Maybe, if I'm helping her, then some kind person is caring for Brianna." She turned and looked back at the two men, "Jamie, I gathered up some willow bark during our journey and it's in our saddlebags. Do you remember how it looks?"

"Aye, Sassenach. I'll go fetch it for ye."

When Jamie stepped out, the housekeeper intercepted him, "Is that yer lass?"

"No, mistress, but the lady is a healer and she wants to help the poor lass. With yer permission of course, can we impose on ye for a bit longer? We won't be any trouble or be expectin' yer hospitality."

"It's fine, sir. Donna trouble yeself. I thank the mistress fer her help."

When Jamie came back with the willow bark; he had assisted preparing the tea while Frank fetched some cold water. Claire then sent the two out as she needed to remove the covers and the girl's shift to cool her body.

Frank and Jamie exited the room and allowed Claire the space to treat the little girl. They sat in tense silence for several minutes until Frank began, "Children dying are fortunately not too common in Claire's and my time, except during the war of course. Yet in the last few days, we've learned about the death of your nephew and this little girl is seriously ill and may not make it either. I know the reported statistics of course in my time, but is it that frequent here?"

"Aye, far too many times," Jamie replied. "I would estimate about 1 in 3 or 1 in 4 children. I'm glad that Brianna got the lass those …vaccinations. Puts me mind at ease—at least for her. And Claire is an excellent healer; I've seen her pull several people back from death."

"Is that how things work with you two? You attack people and she heals them?"

Jamie's face hardened at that comment. "I'm not yer enemy Frank," he reminded him.

Frank took a big, bold step towards Jamie, "You keep saying that; never mind that you've attacked me twice. That alone speaks otherwise. And," Frank paused and poked Jamie's chest, "you're the man who's trying to steal my wife, steal my daughter, and steal my family. In my book that makes you my enemy, Fraser. If you had any honor—."

Jamie took a step backwards from Frank—not because he was intimidated by the man, but because he wanted to de-escalate this confrontation. "This isn't about honor Frank and if I were any other man, then you might be right. However, the truth is that Claire is also my wife and Brianna is also my daughter."

Frank scoffed at Jamie's words, "Well, two objects cannot exist in the same space and two husbands cannot exist in the same bed—at least not any bed that I'd ever want to be in. So you and I are, most definitely, at odds and don't try to act all noble and pretend otherwise."

"I will continue to pretend otherwise while Brianna is missing," Jamie stacattoed his words while attempting to keep calm. "Ye and I are tolerating each other until Claire is once more able to hold the wee lass. After Brianna is found, decisions _will_ be made."

Frank's voice was hard and bitter," Yes, I certainly will decide how I intend to proceed."

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Jamie left the rectory soon after; he preferred to be out searching for Brianna and making inquiries among the people he knew rather than sitting there useless or arguing with Frank. He located several people he knew. Inverness had changed a lot in the seven years since Culloden Moor—a lot of English had moved up to act as occupiers and to take the spoils of war. However, he still found many of his fellow Highlanders who beckoned him into their back rooms with hushed voices and wanted to talk politics or rebellion.

Jamie spurned all of that talk; he didn't have time to indulge their many, albeit deserved grievances. He asked if they knew or had heard about the sudden appearance of a little red-haired girl in strange clothes. Everyone said no, but promised to make their own inquiries and to keep their ears open—anything that Red Jamie wanted was his for the asking.

He returned to the rectory several hours later when most people in the town were settling into their evening meals. He bypassed Frank in the anteroom, completely ignoring him, and knocked on the door.

Claire opened it, looking calming than before. She managed a wan smile when she saw him. Jamie noticed that the girl didn't appear so deathly white and didn't have a sheen of sweat anymore from the fever. "How's the wee lass?"

"Better, I think. Fever has gone down and I feel okay to leave her now."

Jamie looked at her with immense pride, "Ye are miraculous—a few hours of yer time and attention can make a truly profound difference for anyone ye meet. Even if ye weren't my wife, I'd still think ye the best woman I've ever met."

Claire leaned in and whispered, "Then that's the thousandth reason I'm glad you chose not to marry another—for the sake of this hypothetical wife." She glanced at Frank who she saw was pacing in the other room and said louder, "Did you learn anything?"

Jamie's face lost its momentary frivolity, "No. Although I was able to ask many people to keep their eyes and their ears open for anything. That's a much better chance that somethin' will turn up."

"So, what do you suggest for now?"

"Ye feel okay to leave the lass?"

Claire nodded, "I'll check on her in a day or two, but Brianna obviously comes first."

"I suggest then that we head towards Craigh na Dun. I know you've covered that area earlier, but people might be more open with me and it donna hurt to cover the same ground again. Besides, when we do sleep for the night, I'd rather we make camp outside than the awkwardness and expense of getting three rooms here in town."

Claire nodded, "I'll just leave some instructions with the housekeeper and then we can be on our way."

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Their search in the Inverness outskirts towards Craigh na Dun again proved unsuccessful. Claire struggled to keep up her hope, to keep up the appearance of holding herself together, and to keep her two husbands from coming to blows.

She didn't know what had happened while she was tending to the girl, but there was a marked escalation in tension. Neither one said anything to Claire and she suspected that neither one wanted to appear as the petty complainer running to her with his problems.

Frank and Jamie, as if by unwritten agreement, kept a wide berth from each other when they were talking with farmers and when they finally decided to make camp for the night. Again, Claire forced herself to sleep, knowing she needed the rest, but dreading what nightmares would await her.

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Jamie didn't want to sleep either. His daughter—a wee lass he had never met, a bonny lass that would think him a stranger while calling Frank 'Daddy'—was missing. He loved Brianna. He had loved her for years even when he didn't know if she had survived, when he didn't know her name or her face. He had never thought before he became a father that he could feel such profound love for a person he'd never met. And yet, he was willing to die for her, love her, and give up everything for her.

And the situation with Frank was getting worse, not better, and he worried that it could interfere with the search for his missing daughter. And Jack—thinking of Frank inevitably led to thinking about Jack—and he didn't want to drift off to sleep with that bastard in his head…..

.

.

 _For weeks after Claire had rescued him from Wentworth, Jamie struggled through the hazy world of shadows. His body may currently reside in the Abbey, but he had exiled himself into his mind. Consciousness and speaking with others was a distant memory—an irrelevant nuisance. Now he tried to escape that dreariness instead of escaping the prison. His spirit contracted almost to annihilation._

 _Vague forms appeared as Jamie's mind emerged from darkness. He winced; there was just too much pain coming from too many body parts. Jamie blinked several times to clear his vision and felt harsh pain in his hand, his head, his—he didn't want to think about that last bit. He wanted to battle the pain and identify that familiar metallic taste on his lips._

 _Jamie had glimpses of consciousness through the heavy black curtain covering his mind, first noticing the piercing pain in his left hand. After several attempts of focused concentration, he began to discern his surroundings. His head pounded. In the wan glow of early morning, Jamie struggled awake, trying to shake off the heavy veil of sleep. And then he would remember all over again—what he had endured, what he had allowed—and he wished once more to forget and for those few precious seconds between sleep and awake when he didn't remember about Captain Black Jack Randall._

 _Sometimes in the Abbey he heard back-breaking, soul-ending screams and was confused if that was reality or if he was reliving his tortured screams from the prison. He was scared that voice was his own in the present, in the abbey, and not a memory of the prison and his mind sank into a morass of terror and guilt. He was worried the British would punish the other prisoners and that they would be made to suffer because he had escaped. Another person might be screaming and suffering because of him._

 _He didn't indulge in prayer—he felt it would be hypocritical or dishonest—but he wanted to. He had given himself to that inhuman monster—he had made a deal with the devil. Could there be any redemption for him? Peace was banished from his life that hellish night all because of that fucking bastard._

 _._

 _._

Frank awoke and heard Fraser's voice nearby; he could hear the Scot muttering 'fucking bastard' over and over.

Frank was pissed. If Fraser was going to bad mouth him then he could at least do it to his face. He rose to his feet, paced over to the man obviously in a fit of restless sleep and nudged him with his foot.

"If you've got a problem with me then say it to my face," Frank hissed at him. When the Scot didn't wake up, Frank leaned over and nudged him harder, "I said if you have a problem with me, then say it to my face."

Jamie's eyes opened then, startled awake peering up into the face of his worst enemy. Jamie reacted to defend himself; he retrieved his knife and swiped it up at his attacker, cutting Jack across the face.

His attacker recoiled back, his hand flying to his face to cover his wound and shock evident on the man's face. That look of astonishment was so unlike the calm, self-possessed Black Jack Randall. And then realization hit him. Not Jack—Frank!

He dropped the knife immediately and Frank dove for it and held it to Jamie's face with his left hand as his dominant right hand was covering the bleeding cut on his cheek.

Frank lunged at him, but the Scottish warrior was well trained in battle and Jamie just barely managed to parry the blow. "Claire," he yelled, hoping to rouse her. And then to Frank, "I didna mean to. I'm verra sorry I cut ye."

Frank wouldn't accept his apology, "I don't think you're sorry yet, but you will be."

* * *

 _AN: I know I left this is an evil cliffie; however it was the best place to cut the chapter, I swear! I will update soon though. The TV show does cliffhangers also (they left poor Jamie sitting in the window for six months during season 1!), but I promise it won't be that long._

 _Also, I love all your reviews. I remember reading author notes for other writers mentioning that every time they got a new review, it felt like cotton candy and butterflies, and I thought at the time 'Seriously?' But yeah, it's totally true. So thanks!_


	9. Chapter 9

_Jamie dropped the knife immediately and Frank dove for it and held it to Jamie's face with his left hand as his dominant right hand was covering the bleeding cut on his cheek._

 _Frank lunged at him, but the Scottish warrior was well trained in battle and Jamie just barely managed to parry the blow. "Claire," he yelled, hoping to rouse her. And then to Frank, "I didna mean to. I'm verra sorry I cut ye."_

 _Frank wouldn't accept his apology, "I don't think you're sorry yet, but you will be."_

* * *

Chapter 9

The ruckus along with Jamie calling her name did wake up Claire and she struggled for a few moments to see and assess what was happening on this cloudy moonlit night.

She managed to see the knife gleaming in Frank's hand and the blood dripping off his face from behind his hand. She instantly understood the circumstances were desperate and dire. She felt guilty too; she should have anticipated that this could occur.

Frank had been wound up too tight with Brianna missing and Jamie being alive and she'd done little to deal with his emotions. She knew that Frank felt like he was losing everything and that made him a loose cannon. Even though she'd known him for years, she couldn't easily anticipate his reactions in these desperate times. Especially if he felt he had been attacked first which would make this retaliation justified and a perfect reason to exact the vengeance he wanted. However, she needed to address the very real threat of the knife first.

"Frank, please give me the knife."

"No way—this man is crazy."

"Frank, I need to see to your wound. You're bleeding."

Frank waved the knife at Jamie, "I'm going to make him bleed first."

Jamie cut in, "I'm sorry Frank. I was having another nightmare. I was reliving a bad memory and you woke me and when I saw your face over me, I just reacted."

"Black Jack again? Really?" Frank scoffed, and made no move to drop the knife. "Claire told me what he did to her and if I ever met him, I'd kill him myself for punching her and stripping her like he did. But, I'm not him and Claire told me herself that she was never under any real danger of him raping her."

"He raped _me_."

Frank looked confused in those initial seconds before comprehension hit. Then he understood. The unbidden image just didn't coincide with his world view. This rough, brawny, rugged Scot just could never be anyone's victim and then he realized that had been Black Jack's motivation. That man had wanted to see this mighty Scottish warrior brought low. Frank just looked shocked and struck dumb as the meaning of the words sank in.

Jamie continued, "Look, I don't like talking about it—obviously, but I'll tell you everything. I really am verra sorry that I cut ye. Please give the knife to Claire—not to me—and let her see to ye. I promise, I'll tell ye. I should've sooner considering yer resemblance, but I am still a proud man."

Frank looked to Claire for confirmation and she nodded. He switched his grip on the knife so that the blade now pointed towards the ground and handed it to her.

Claire took it, a resigned look on her face knowing that the coming conversation would be difficult for Jamie to recount. She paced to her saddlebags and got out all the medical equipment she'd put together from her visits to the apothecary, scavenged from Lallybroch, or collected on the road. She also brought the flask of whiskey. It may not have been the best liquid sustenance at the moment with tempers flaring so easily, but still some of life's most trying moments could be made more bearable with alcohol.

Claire lit a candle and asked Frank to hold it with his left hand. She then cajoled him to pry his fingers away from the cut on his face, already starting to clot. "It's deeper than I like, but it could've been far worse. The cut is about four inches long and it extends from beneath your eye to your jawline. I'll need to give you stitches and you'll likely have a permanent scar."

Frank who had been quiet since Jamie's admission now spoke, "Did Jack Randall have any scars on his face?"

Claire shook her head.

"Well, I suppose that makes us different now."

Claire could see just how much the events of tonight were affecting him, "You're a lot different from him Frank. There's no comparison, truly."

"I carry his face, people make assumptions about me that I am him or that I'm like him," Frank looked again at Jamie and addressed him, "Claire told me a little of what he did to her, but since it seemed so traumatic, I didn't want to press her to relive it."

Jamie sat still for a long moment and then took a swig of whiskey from the flask and handed it back over, "I donna like discussin' the blackguard, but ye and I have somewhat inherited each other. We might—I mean that I might do a better job to make the best of it for Claire's and Brianna's sake. And ye've inherited his appearance and ye probably got more right than most to know what with folks will be assumin' about ye. And especially now with how I've treated ye. I hope ye can forgive me." Frank stayed silent so Jamie continued, "So, Claire told ye about her dealings with him?"

Frank nodded.

"But no of mine?"

"She spoke in very broad terms about him seven years ago and I never pressed her for more. She only said he tortured you."

"Aye, I had many dealings with the man," Jamie stood up and turned around and grabbed off his shirt. "Those were the first scars he gave me from two floggings; one hundred atop one hundred." Jamie put the shirt back on and sat down again. "My father was there for the second time, but I didna see him. My back was turned. I only learned later that my father collapsed and died right there—not twenty paces behind me. Claire said it was likely something called a heart attack. For a while, my uncle Dougal would make me show the scars as evidence of British tyranny to drum up money for the Stuarts. I hated it then and I donna like showin' them now. But, yer no most people."

Frank shook his head, "No, I'm not."

Jamie turned back to the topic, "The next time I saw him was four years later with his hands all over Claire. I got her away from him, but his interest in me had…re-kindled. I was about to be hanged at Wentworth Prison and Randall stopped it. He didn't want me to have an easy death. Randall was a cat who liked to play with his prey. He wanted me to beg for my death and honestly by the time he was done with me, I was about to do it to meself."

Frank, who just minutes earlier, had wanted to hurt the man by any means possible, now had heard more than enough, "You can stop there. I don't need to hear more."

Claire had paused with the stitches. She couldn't focus during this retelling. She had disinfected the cut and stitched up enough that Frank's wound could wait for now.

"It's fine—after what I've done to ye, ye deserved to hear the full truth. Claire tried to break me out that night, but got herself caught too. Randall used that to extract a promise from me—that he would stop choking her and he would let her go if I didna resist whatere he wanted. He was determined to have my surrender."

Jamie stopped at this point; he wanted to keep his emotion in check and to act detached and objective. Frank might deserve to hear the truth, but the man hadn't earned the right to see into the deepest recesses of his soul. "Claire and me clansman were able to get me out in the mornin' by makin' a distraction and we thought we left Randall for dead, but by then he had smashed my hand with a mallet—Claire had to set nine bones, nailed my hand to a table to keep me in the cell while he took Claire out of the prison, the uh, …the buggering of course, and he'd…he'd branded me," Jamie briefly lifted his shirt, "Me kin cut it out. I couldna endure his initials on me body."

Jamie stood up and paced a few moments, "Story's almost done. A few months later, we learned he was alive and met him again in the garden of Versailles of all places. I challenged him to a duel, but Claire asked me not to fer yer sake."

Frank was stunned, "My sake?"

"She asked me to wait until after the conception that continued yer family line so ye could exist. I agreed, but it didna matter, because in the end, it was actually his brother. I broke that promise when I caught him in the act of raping a dear twelve-year-old boy who was in our care. We dueled; I injured but didn't kill him, and the stress drove Claire to have a miscarriage—our wee lass was stillborn I mean."

Although it was in Frank's presence, Jamie reached out and grabbed Claire's hand and said to her, "I ken ye think differently, but that is still a debt I owe ye."

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Although his wound was not completely mended, Frank rose up from the log he had been sitting on and paced. It registered that Fraser had taken Claire's hand, but at this point, it just wasn't worth commenting on. Frank couldn't help but notice the interaction between them, the care and consideration that underlay Jamie's willingness to endure that hell with Jack—it looked like they truly had a real marriage. Frank had to turn away.

He turned his thoughts to what Fraser had just divulged to him. Frank had felt the same way as when reports of atrocities started coming into the intelligence office during the war. This story was too horrific; his ancestor was cruel and monstrous. That man had raped a child—at least one child, he corrected; it was probably more. He wondered what he would do if anyone attempted that on Brianna. That thought coupled with the fact that she was missing and out of his protection, caused Frank to lean over and vomit into the dirt.

Frank stayed hunched over the ground for a long moment until his queasy stomach started to settle. He just wanted Brianna to be okay. He didn't even want anything for himself at the moment—just for the little girl that he had loved despite her red hair to be safe and okay.

He stood up again and almost wiped his mouth on his sleeve until he remembered that was his only shirt and his mind turned back to Jack.

Jack has caused so much pain and abused his power. Frank only knew of his actions towards Jamie, his family, and Claire. What other horrors had that…that thing…created in his wake? It left Frank bereft, rebelling against the Black Jack side of himself. He was more than his last name, more than his appearance, but also more than the milquetoast descriptions generally applied to him. He had been mulling over a decision about his future, trying to decide his way forward.

Despite his intelligence work during the war and knowing information about the worst horrors from the war for years before the public did, he still didn't understand the motivations of people like his ancestor wanting only to destroy. This was destruction through anger and arrogance, but also the active annihilation of someone's humanity. Jack probably took the military commission and assignment in Scotland solely to find people to abuse. An appointment in London wouldn't have been exciting enough for him or allowed him to indulge his sadistic compulsions to use and destroy.

Before tonight, Frank had thought of Black Jack as some dashing, adventurous rogue like Jesse James or Robin Hood. Now he understood that Jack was exactly how Fraser had described him when they first met by the haystacks—a vile rapist.

Frank walked well away from the fire; he needed to feel the cold air. He started to huddle up to protect against the cold and he wanted to fight against that instinct. He could see his breath and started shivering. Although summer, it was still cold at night in these mountains. He turned up his collar and spread his arms wide feeling the wind on his palms, which sent tingles up his arms and to his spine. He just needed to open up and accept whatever life sent his way. Fate had been incredibly kind to him these last seven years—too kind. Perhaps even better than he deserved.

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"How are you, darling" Claire asked Jamie. They were still holding hands and felt relatively able to speak freely since Frank had migrated off some distance away within his own thoughts. "That can't have been easy for you to recount—to Frank of all people since…he's Jack's descendent and considering the way things are right now between the three of us."

"I'm glad I did it though," Jamie countered, "At least it feels like there's no longer that secret between us. Aye, there's barriers and walls enough, but no longer that one." Jamie stopped and buried his face in his hands. "I must admit to ye Sassenach that me problems with Frank aren't just his resemblance to Jack Randall. The truth is I'm jealous and I'm scared. I'm scared that ye'll stay his wife and that when we find Brianna that ye and the lass will all go back through the stones."

"Jamie—," Claire started.

Jamie continued unimpeded, "That may be what the lass wants. She may no be able to like it here. I donna want her to hate me because she couldna have sugar, hot baths, and automobiles."

Claire squeezed his left hand and brought him into a tight hug with her right hand, "She will adjust, I'm sure. She's young and it will be difficult at first. She won't understand why her cousins at Lallybroch don't know about airplanes, electricity, and _Snow White_ , but please be assured that we will work it out. I can't give you more promises yet until we find Brianna, but please know that my heart is with you. Do you remember what you said to me that day at Castle Leoch when you pledged your fealty to me?"

Jamie understood well that Claire was referencing their argument and his oath-taking to her in their bedroom after he had…disciplined…her. "We said a lot of things that day, Sassenach," Jamie replied not sure which specific statement she was implying.

Claire traced his jawline down his neck to the vee of his shirt. Her finger migrated to the part of his chest hidden by the shirt, "You said 'You're mine, _mo nighean donn_. Mine, now and forever.' Remember?"

Jamie had relived that moment a thousand times since then—especially in the days following Wentworth or when isolated in the cave or in the British prison after Culloden Moor.

"Aye, I do remember that very well."

Claire took his hand and put it up against her heart, flat up against her breast. "I truly felt married to you that day when you said those words—more so even than in our wedding ceremony in which I was almost too drunk to remember. I'm not sure about you, but that day was when I knew the love between us was true and that I was yours—forever. Not just in this time, but for all time. And for these past seven years, I've felt like I've been betraying that, betraying you—even though you sent me back and told me to let you go. I couldn't stop feeling that way about us. Not then. Not ever."

Jamie tried and was nearly almost successful to keep a tight rein on his emotions. He didn't want to speak though and tempt his voice and merely folded her into a tight embrace. They held each other like that for a long time, no longer needing words.

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When Frank meandered back to the camp, Claire rushed up to him to check the stitches on his cheek, "Please sit down, so I can have a better look."

She peered down at him examining the scar, "Looks good, no sign of infection."

Frank tried not to focus on the fact that her positioning and close proximity meant her breasts almost in his face.

"Frank?" the Englishman turned towards the Scot, and Jamie continued, "Normally when we take oaths here in Scotland, there is kneeling, blades, and sometimes blood involved. However, I think we've had enough of blades and blood tonight and I'm sure neither of us would like me kneeling afore ye. I know ye might no believe me after me earlier promises, but I give ye my solemn vow that I shall never raise me blade to ye again without cause. Ye have me deepest and humble apologies."

Jamie stuck out his hand, "I'm verra sorry I scarred ye. I ken well enough how that can affect someone. Will ye accept me apology?"

Frank stared at his rival's outstretched hand, remembering everything that had occurred this last week—all the times he had caught his wife with that man—and indeed for the last seven years when this man had come between him and his wife. Frank stood up, looked at Jamie for a long time directly in the eye and said, "I accept your apology."

Frank, very pointedly, did not take Jamie's outstretched hand.

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Soon before daybreak, a rider came galloping to their campsite at high speed. Jamie retrieved his knife from where Claire had dropped it the night before. He sheathed it though when he recognized who it was.

"Hamish," Jamie greeted his younger cousin. Jamie had been given the clan guardianship until Hamish came of age by Colum on his deathbed. However, the aftermath of Culloden Moor and the British determination to break the clans had made that declaration largely useless. The clan system, as Claire had warned him years earlier, had been dissolved. Hamish was not the publically recognized Laird of Clan MacKenzie. There would never again be the public oath-takings of fealty; however, in secret, all kept to the old ways as much as possible.

"Hamish?" Claire questioned, "Look at you. You're all grown up now."

The lad gave her a slight bow, "Mistress Fraser, it is good to see ye. Ye might no realize but yer appearance and disappearance among us has become written up in folk songs these last years."

Claire looked stunned and slightly amused, "I wasn't aware. I'd like to hear one sometime."

Jamie took hold of his horse's bridle, "What brought ye scurrying to us as though the Lobsterbacks were chasing ye?"

"Ye looking for a lass?"

Claire interjected, "Yes, a red-haired girl, seven years old, with blue eyes and unusual clothes for here in Scotland."

"I'm not sure about the clothes and eyes, but I did hear about one red-haired lass and the stories about her seemed as mysterious as yer own, if ye donna mind me sayin', Mistress Fraser. When I heard it and heard that ye was looking for a lass like that, I owed ye the message."

"What story?" Jamie prompted.

"A family about a day or so west of here, near Loch Achilty. The wife is a MacKenzie so that how I heard tell the story. Six years ago, they say the fairies took their baby and left a changeling who died. Then last week, the husband was traveling to Inverness to market and said that he saw the lass suddenly appear at the fairy hill. She had the same red-hair and so he knew that the fairies must have finally returned their child, Cairstine. He brought the lass home with him and I assume the fairy child is with them now.

The tears that Claire had not allowed herself to release now flowed freely, "Jamie, do you know what this means? It may be her. It may be our Brianna. And if they believe she is their beloved child returned to them, then they took good care of her. She may have been scared, but she probably wasn't cold or sick or…or abused." She looked back at Hamish, "When you say fairy hill, do you mean Craigh na Dun?"

The young man could only shake his head, "I did not hear the name of the hill during the retelling."

"Hamish," Jamie addressed his cousin, "could you ride with us to Loch Achilty?"

He shook his head, "I'm sorry, but I canna. I promised my mother that I would only be gone one night and that I would only deliver the message and ride back straightaway. Please stop at Castle Leoch soon and pay respects to my mother. She would love to see both of you again." He spurred his horse and was gone as quickly as he arrived leaving excitement and a renewed mission in his wake.


	10. Chapter 10

_AN: Thanks so much to the reviewer who pointed out that I was constantly spelling Jamie as Jaime-I never noticed! All the chapters should be fixed for that now._

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CHAPTER 10

The détente between Jamie and Frank continued for the long ride west to Loch Achilty. Once they reached the loch, one of the local farmers easily directed them towards the croft with the 'fairy child.' Claire, remembering her own witchcraft trial, felt grateful that due to the child's young age (and hope to God that child was Brianna), the mystery of the 'fairy child' was ascribed to fairies and not to witchcraft. She still was nervous all these years later in what the local superstitions could drive the Highlanders to believe and to do. Jamie reassured her that a young child would not be accused of witchcraft or anything else dark.

When the three were a quarter-mile from the property line for the farm, Jamie reared up his horse and had Claire stop hers and Frank's as well.

"Here's the plan," Jamie started. "I will go in and see and speak to the girl."

"Just you?" Claire interrupted.

"Yes, if you two go in and it's Brianna. She will yell out 'Mummy' or 'Daddy' and it's all over. Even if it's Brianna and not their 'fairy child' returned to them, they will not want to give her up easily." Jamie took a deep breath as the next words were not easy to say, "I am a stranger to Brianna. If it's her, she won't know me so they won 't know my true intentions. Also, as former declared regent for Hamish, Laird of Clan MacKenzie, I have some ability to get meself into their home and assert the right to question their lass on his behalf. The English may want to destroy our clans, but we folks still believe in them and our own ways and that can work to our advantage here."

Claire nodded her assent and Frank, seeing the logic in Jamie's plan nodded as well.

Jamie wanted to be clear on specifics though, "First, does Brianna speak French? The family certainly wonna and I want to speak to her without their understanding."

Claire nodded. Just because they were living in Boston and de facto Americans, Claire didn't want Brianna restricted to only English.

"Good," Jamie smiled, "Secondly, do you have anything of Brianna's?"

Claire grabbed the satchel and pulled out the Daisy Duck hair barrette that she had found in Craigh na Dun in 1955 after Brianna had first gone missing. "She wears them in pairs. She probably has its match."

"Good, lastly, what stories about fairies does Brianna know from your time?"

Frank spoke up, "Tinkerbelle. She's from a movie called _Peter Pan_ we saw two years ago. It's from a book from the early 1900s. No one else could know that."

Jamie repeated it to make sure he got the names right, "Tinkerbelle and Peter Pan?"

Frank wasn't satisfied, "So if you go in there and determine it's her, then what?"

"Then I tell her, in French, that I'm friends with her Mummy and Daddy and we'll be back tonight for her and not to be scared."

"Why tonight?" Claire pressed.

"Because if we try to reason with them, then we might never get her back from them. They could run, thinking that we're trying to steal their daughter just like the fairies did with their baby and left the changeling. If we try to take her by force now, then it could get violent. The best is to sneak in at night and get her far away from the property before they realize she's gone."

Claire nodded her agreement at his reasoning. "Frank?" she asked, wanting him to agree also.

"That does sound sensible, but take a look at her photo again before you go in," Frank suggested in answer.

Jamie slowly approached the thatched hut on horseback. He called out his arrival so he wouldn't be immediately attacked. When he spotted the man of the house, he swung off the horse and his feet hit the ground with a loud thud.

"Hello there, I am James Fraser, cousin to Hamish MacKenzie, Laird of Clan MacKenzie and was appointed regent by Colum MacKenzie until he came of age. Since yer wife is a MacKenzie, I was asked to come here in his stead and speak to the lass heard tell returned by the fairies."

That speech earned him looks of suspicion, but also hesitant acceptance. Even post-Culloden, simple farmers did not easily refuse entry to the Clan Lairds or their appointed representatives. The man had dark hair and sun-weathered leathery skin. He carried himself with a dignity that reminded Jamie of Murtagh and he hoped that an armed fight would not be necessary between them.

"Well met, James Fraser. Me name is Angus MacGuffin. Ye wish to examine the lass?"

"Aye sir, I do."

MacGuffin's hand went to the hilt of his dirk and replied reluctantly, "Verra well. We will submit. Ye may speak to the lass, but ye will no be takin' her to Leoch to be examined. No unless ye wish to battle me as well, sir."

Jamie tried to assuage the man and was silently glad that invoking the name of the MacKenzie Laird had worked, "I'm sure that will no be necessary. I only wish to speak to the lass and report back to the MacKenzie." Jamie gestured at the door of their hut, "May I come inside?"

MacGuffin nodded and allowed him entry. Jamie had to duck to get through the small door and it took him a moment to adjust to the darkened room; he scanned the room for Brianna, but also to memorize the layout. He would need to remember every detail if his plan was going to work.

He could tell the family lived simply. There was hay covering the dirt floor and they all lived in this one room—the parent's bed in one corner and the children all shared another bed in the opposite corner. A sizeable cauldron was perched over the fire likely filled with a vegetable broth with bits of scrap meat thrown in and allowed to simmer throughout the day. Jamie did not see any lass that could be the much-discussed 'fairy child.'

"Where is the lass?" Jamie prompted. "Cairstine, is it?"

"The lass is in the barn loft, I'll just goin fetch her. Have a seat," MacGuffin gestured at a hewn chair and left him in the hut alone.

Jamie was too restless and could not sit. He paced instead and took advantage of the opportunity to study the hut better and confirming his earlier assessments about which bed was the parents' and which was the kids. He also checked for where the household weapons were stored.

Jamie had no quarrel with this family, but if the lass was Brianna then she absolutely would be retrieved and returned to her mother. In fact, he felt grateful to the MacGuffins for shielding her from what could have been a far worse fate. If his plan was necessary and if it worked, he would return here and explain regardless of the danger to him. He understood the superstitions of the Highland folks too well. Once they had decided to believe one of the folk stories—or decided that this red-haired lass that they found was their long-lost, fairy-stolen child returned to them, then no amount of argument or logic would change their mind. To MacGuffin's mind, Jamie was sure, Jamie would be the kidnapper of their child and not the reverse.

When Jamie heard footsteps out front, he quickly found the chair and assumed a bored, expectant look.

MacGuffin and a middle-aged woman that Jamie guessed was his wife and the MacKenzie relative appeared in the doorway. Far behind them, he could just barely glimpse a wee lass. She had red hair hanging down in front of her bowed head as she stared at the ground, obscuring her face. She was dressed in typical Scottish clothes and appeared quite timid, choosing to toe the dirt with her bare feet.

Jamie gave a respectful slight bow to the lady, "Well met, Mistress MacGuffin."

She merely nodded in response. The woman looked as though she had a hard life, filled with long hours of hard work and that she didn't wish to be interrupted to provide an audience to one of her clan leaders.

Jamie asked her, "Is this your wee lass restored back from the fairies?"

"Aye, she is."

"Can ye introduce us?"

"Cairstine? Comma here, lass."

Jamie dropped to his knees so he could speak to her eye-to-eye.

The lass trudged forward, still looking at the dirt, hair still hanging forward.

"Cairstine?" he tentative asked. He put a finger beneath her chin and slowly, gently lifted up so he could see her fully.

When Jamie saw her face, looked into her eyes., he immediately had to close his to keep his emotions in check. He could not allow tears and emotions of this moment to ruin the ruse and compel MacGuffin to snatch the child back from him.

The lass resembled the photo and had his long-departed mother's eyes, but he still did not want to get his hopes up. His mother was a MacKenzie, but so was this woman. It didn't mean anything…yet. However, he felt a curious but pronounced stirring in his blood when he saw her. He'd only had that experience one time before—at a cabin long ago when he first met a beautiful woman who helped him with his dislocated shoulder—Claire.

"Hello there, wee lass. I've heard quite a bit about ye and wanted to meet ye. Me name is Jamie Fraser and I'd be pleased if ye would speak with me and answer me questions."

"Yes sir, Mr. Fraser."

 _Yes? Not Aye?_

"Can you tell me about yer time with the fairies?"

She nodded at Mr. and Mistress MacGuffin, "They said not to speak of the fairies."

"It's fine with me. Isn't it?" He turned to the mistress and gave his best stern Clan Laird glare.

The woman, raised to respect the clan all her life, nodded. While he had the mistress's attention, he asked, "Are these the clothes that Cairstine wore when ye found her?"

"No. We burned those and those strange fairy shoes. They stole our daughter for six years and left a weak changeling in her place. We want no of them creatures."

Jamie nodded and turned his attention back to the lass, "Will ye be willing to answer some questions about yer time with the fairies, lass?"

Shyly, the girl nodded. From Claire's description of Brianna, he didn't think she would be so timid; however, she had been thrown out of her world, away from her parents and everything she was used to. Although she had a roof, food, and folks who were nice to her, she had still lost all the remnants of her old life—even her name and her clothes. If this was Brianna, it would likely cause even the most assertive, headstrong child to undergo a drastic change in demeanor.

"Were the fairies kind to ye lass?"

She nodded.

"How was it that ye stopped being with the fairies?"

The girl didn't want to answer at first and took some time to choose her words, "I was on a hill with tall stones—a fairy hill…he said," she paused to indicate MacGuffin. "I touched a large stone in the middle and then I felt like I was just falling…like falling down the rabbit hole."

Jamie was confused, "Rabbit hole?"

"Yeah, like in…Never mind," she ended glumly.

He tried a different tactic, "What did the fairies call ye?"

She gave a wary glance at the MacGuffins, "They say it's not my real name. My real name is Cairstine."

He gave her an encouraging smile, "Even so, how did the fairies call ye?"

"Bri—Brianna."

Jamie had to slam his eyes shut once more or he would start to cry at once and throw his arms around the girl. He felt a glorious warmth surge through his body. Brianna was found. Brianna was no longer missing. She wasn't hurt, hungry, or abused. These people wouldn't harm her. And yet, she still needed to be safely restored to her mother.

"Do ye have the mark of the fairies?"

Brianna was confused, "The mark?"

He touched the upper part of her left arm, "Here. Can ye roll up yer sleeve, please?"

Brianna obliged him and sure enough, the small pox scar that Claire had was on her arm as well.

"Thank ye lass, ye can fix yer sleeve now. I have a present for ye."

He took out the Daisy Duck barrette and held it out for her. When she spied it, her eyes flew from the barrette in his open palm up to his face with energized excitement. "I..I lost this. I know where I lost this. How did you find it?"

Jamie switched to French, «Only nod to what I tell ye, understand?»

Brianna nodded.

Jamie checked that the MacGuffins didn't understand his words. Continuing in French, Jamie told her, «I know your mother and she misses you. She loves you and cannot wait to see you again. I will leave here soon, but I will come back tonight in secret and collect you then. I promise to bring you to your mother and do try not to be scared. I will be leaving you here until tonight only because I don't want anyone to be hurt. Please don't speak of this and just act normal and go to bed like normal. Understand?»

Brianna, wide-eyed, nodded. She was a smart girl and knew well enough to not ask any ill-advised questions like 'You know my mother?'

Jamie switched back to English then, "Well, it does seem that Tinkerbelle and the rest of the fairies did take good care of ye. Yer such a brave girl and I am verra much happy to meet ye. I ken yer parents are verra, verra proud of ye."

He glanced then at the MacGuffins to assess their reaction to his visit with the girl. They seemed confused by the switch to French and his compliments to the lass, but they could find nothing specific to object to, so they stood there silent and allowed it to continue.

Jamie rose to his feet and needed to address the MacGuffins once more before taking his leave, "Thank ye again fer yer time and yer permission to examine the lass. I find her verra fine and suffering no ill-effects. I will report back to the Laird that there is no to be concerned about and that she is actually a bonny, verra special lass.

Jamie hated leaving Brianna here, even for the few short hours until nightfall, but he understood the necessity of it as his foremost priority was delivering his daughter back into her mother's arms. His plan had the best chance to achieve that goal.

He gave his daughter one last long look and kept his hands clasped behind his back to prevent himself from throwing his arms about her. He had never imagined that this would be the way he'd first meet his daughter, but all the strange twists and turns of the winding road of his life had showed him that life could be painful, it could be wondrous, it could be miraculous, but it could never, ever be predictable.

He mounted the horse, unable to take his eyes off the adoring eyes of his daughter. He had rode in, brought something of hers from her home, and promised he would come back to reunite her with her mother before another day dawned. He would remove her from this strange home and strange people where she was supposed to pretend to be someone else.

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Frank and Claire sat on a fallen log with their horse tethered nearby. They didn't speak much. With each passing day, they were becoming more and more strangers and less like a couple with almost two decades of history and shared experience, even if almost half of that time had been spent apart thanks to the war and the stones.

Claire was a frazzled bundle of nervous energy. Jamie would bring exultant or disappointed news when she saw him next. Her nervousness set her knees and hands to trembling motivating Frank to bridge the chasm and take one of her hands and put his arm around her. Claire allowed it. They had always been able to connect because of their shared affection for Brianna; they did better as parents than as spouses. She was glad he hadn't mentioned Jamie's story from the night before and she had checked the stitches on his cheek several times. She had done well with the stitching, considering most of the work had been done at night by firelight and candlelight and part of it while Jamie was relating the horrors of Black Jack.

He would have a scar on his face for the rest of his life and she felt sorrowful about that and she knew Jamie felt very guilty and ashamed that it had come to that. However, her medical work in the aftermath had reduced the damage so that the scar gave him a certain uniqueness and character that he didn't possess before. The scar wouldn't be disfiguring, but instead provided an interesting contrast to his professorial demeanor.

Frank adored the feeling of Claire in his arms. When she had first returned and they had agreed to be married once more, he felt truly happy and hopeful. However, hope can be very cruel and make a person believe that a situation will improve regardless of the perceived futility. He had always craved her even at times in the last seven years when he didn't like her very much. He had always felt the physical attraction and after she had recovered from Brianna's birth, he had endeavored to possess her as much and as often as possible. She usually had submitted, though she had never balanced him with passion and enthusiasm. She never countered his eagerness or precipitated any of their encounters. That had been disappointing, but not enough for him to stop having her. He may not have been in combat during the war, but every time that he bedded his wife for the last seven years, he got this deep, satisfying knowledge than he had somehow won a battle.

Now he felt adrift in a swirling sea. He was losing his family; he could feel them slowly, surely slipping away. His first inclination had been to follow Black Jack as that man would not go quietly or quickly into defeat. However, after learning Jack Randall's true nature the other night, he knew he couldn't follow that path and needed to find his own way. It felt strange and slightly sad that he didn't know what his own path was. Here, now, with his arm around his wife, he could almost feel the echoes of the past in Boston and the times that she would have submitted to his touch. Frank knew, deeply knew within his bones, that those times were now over too.

Frank sat there with Claire, fighting the memory of Fraser's words about Jack. A few nights before he had learned the whole story about Fraser and Jack, Frank had a dream in which he was the one with the power and in control. He was no longer fighting against his darker nature, but instead he was indulging in it, glorying in it, and simultaneously feeling so superior to the person he was torturing. Remembering that, and remembering from Fraser's story that such dark thoughts could lead to dark actions, he renewed his determination again to turn away from the taunting, seductive powers of his ancestor, Black Jack. Frank would not let that man blacken, overwhelm, or overtake his mind.

And then his mind turned to Claire, she had been there beside Fraser throughout that entire ordeal. Claire had endured a lot too from Jack—not only directly, but indirect pain too through Fraser. Probably for the first time, he started seeing the hellish circumstances through her eyes and for once, he didn't feel slighted, cheated, or resentful.

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The Randalls sat there in nearly complete silence for the entire duration of Jamie's absence. When they heard the thunder of hooves, Claire dropped Frank's hand instantly and stood up, eager for any news.

Jamie came up short, hopped off the horse, and beamed a glorious smile at Claire. She squealed in delight and threw her arms around Jamie and held on tight to him.

Jamie, knowing this wasn't a good time to antagonize Frank, reached behind his neck and unclasped her hands. He gave her hands a quick kiss, "I met her. I met our bonny daughter. She's well. She is scared and unhappy, but she's holding up well considering how drastically her life has changed. It was so difficult to no put her straight away on the horse. I woulda too if no for the risk of a bullet in me back."

Claire asked, "So what now?"

Jamie instantly became more serious, "Well, the 'what now' is that I need to hear from both of ye that I'm runnin' the mission tonight and ye obey me orders just as though we was in the army. Understand?"

Jamie gave a stern look at both of them—all familiarity and light-heartedness gone.

Claire nodded in reply.

"I need to hear the words, Sassenach."

"Yes, of course. You have my word," Claire replied.

"Frank?" prodded Jamie.

"Yes," Frank replied, sounding genuine. "Brianna has always been the most important consideration. We're not going to screw it up now."

"Good," Jamie said, then dropped to a squat on the ground, collecting stray twigs and using them to assemble a floor plan of the MacGuffin's hut. He pointed out all the characteristics he had noted while in their home earlier that day.

"So Frank," Jamie advised, "your job is to go into the hut, go to the kids' bed here that I showed ye. Find Brianna and scoop her up. She's expecting us so she shouldn't be surprised, but remind her to stay silent. I want you to go with her to the door and out of the hut, but also protect her as much as ye can with yer body, huddle around her, such like. Remember—it's very important that ye duck your head when both entering and exiting. Don't get overly excited on the way out, be almost done, and then forget a wee detail like that. When ye get out of the hut, I want ye to run as fast as ye can to the horses about five hundred feet away. Don't look back, don't slow down. If ye hear a gunshot at any time, then ye three mount up on yer horse and ride away. Understand?"

Frank nodded.

"Just to be clear, yer job is to grab, shield, run. I will be covering ye and making sure that MacGuffin doesna hurt ye both."

"What about me, Jamie?" Claire didn't see where she fit in this plan.

"I need ye to wait with the horses, Sassenach."

"Wait with the horses? Are you joking? I want to help."

"Ye also gave yer word that ye would obey. Yer not plannin' to?" Jamie thought to tease her about promising to obey him in their wedding vows, but thought better of bringing that up with Frank around. He just wanted to get through tonight without making him mad…or scarring him some more.

"I will," Claire replied sullenly, "but to sit with the horses…"

"I have two very good reasons for it and I hope ye wonna argue. One: if anyone, Frank, Brianna, or meself is hurt then we're gonna need doctorin'. I ken ye donna want Brianna hurt and unable to do nothin' about it. Two: if anyone is injured, I would prefer it be Frank or me than ye. I donna want Brianna to see her mother hurt. She's been aggrieved enough."

Claire conceded his points. Jamie had obviously thought this out. "You're right."

"Things'll always be so much easier if'n ye just begin with those words," Jamie replied, his earlier jovial attitude returning.

Frank wanted some details clarified, "Why will be the horses be so far? If you want to get away fast, then shouldn't they be right outside?"

Jamie shook his head, "Horses are loud and they're a big target if it comes to that. I'd rather get away clean than get away fast."

Frank conceded the logic, "So, when do we start?"

"Deep of night. Best hope is the MacGuffins stay asleep and donna ken what's happenin' afore mornin'. I donna want any bloodshed."

Claire agreed, "Yes, definitely."

The three anxiously waited as the hours slowly passed and the moon slowly rose. Silence largely reigned in those hours as no one wanted the various romantic entanglements or arguments to jeopardize their mission. As a safe topic, Jamie asked Claire to recount her time at medical school and how that was different from nursing she'd learned in the war.

Finally, one time when Jamie looked up at the sky, he was satisfied and asked Claire and Frank, "Ready?"

"Ready, let's go get our girl."


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Claire paced. Paced and sat. Sat and waited. Worried and sat. The stars inched forward. She was desperate for the three of them to come, but if something tragic occurred, she never wanted to know the truth. And would prefer instead to stay in this moment, frozen for all time.

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Frank could feel the sweat running down his back and a stitch piercing his side, but he trusted that Fraser would deal with any resistance. He ran as fast as possible and when he reached Claire and the horses, he handed Brianna off to her with little ceremony. Instead, his legs just collapsed beneath him and his knees hit the stones, sending waves of pain up through his legs.

In the hut, Brianna had opened her mouth to say 'Daddy'; he could see the words form on her lips and he clapped his hand firmly over her mouth. He relied on Fraser to cover and protect them as he ran away from the hut. For some reason, it didn't seem quite as objectionable for them to be two fathers to Brianna as it seemed that they were both husbands to Claire.

His legs gave out, but the mission was accomplished and Brianna was safely restored to her mother, Frank just stayed where he was in the dirt when his legs had given out beneath him and he tried to get his breath back to normal. He was still listening for the warning gunshot from Fraser to mount up and be gone instead of paying attention to the reunion between mother and daughter three feet away.

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"Mummy! You came for me!"

"Of course darling, Oh I love you so much, I've missed you. Are you okay?"

"You're squeezing me really hard, but that lady said she was my mummy and that you and daddy had stolen me and that you were fairies, but that didn't make sense because I've seen fairies in the movies and of course they aren't real. I did try to tell her."

"It's okay darling, she was just confused. But they fed you and were nice to you?"

She looked over her shoulder to Frank, "Daddy, I'm so sorry I ran off. I'll never do it again. I promise. I super pinkie swear. You can send me to bed early and no dessert for a whole year. I just wanna go home."

From the direction of the hut, they heard a gunshot. Frank and Claire just stared at each other and froze.

"Daddy was that a gun?"

The question spurred Frank into action. The agreement had been for the three of them to leave immediately. He went for the horse and started to cajole Claire to hop up and that he'd hand up Brianna.

Claire shook her head, "No, we can't just ride off and leave him."

"Claire we can't stay. Now we agreed. All three of us agreed, now get up on that horse." He pointed at the saddle.

"I can't leave him behind. Not again, Frank. _I can't!_ "

Frank got pissed, "You're telling me this about you and Fraser now? Now? Brianna comes first and if there are gunshots then we—you need to get her out of here," he paused, mulling over his next words. "I'll stay here—Fraser and I can share his horse. We'll all meet up at that inn like we agreed." He took Brianna from her arms and bodily shoved Claire over to the horse.

"Frank, are you sure?"

"Would you rather I take her?" he asked, knowing that she wouldn't want that option either. "Get her out of here," he repeated as he handed Brianna up to her—he still hadn't had a chance to hug the girl properly. He then hit the back haunches of the horse to get it moving.

He stood there thirty seconds to satisfy himself that Claire didn't wheel around to come back. Frank grabbed some supplies from the saddlebags from Fraser's horse thinking they might prove useful, then darted off in the direction of the single gunshot.

Frank slowed and ducked down as he neared the hut and was surprised by the strange tableau he encountered. A dark-haired man was laying on the ground, apparently unconscious; he could see the slow rise and fall of the man's chest and Frank felt relieved. These were good people, although definitely superstitious and likely unreasonable, but still a product of this century more than anything else. Frank hadn't wanted anything bad to happen to them. Fraser was sitting up next to a tree, blood stains at his right shoulder. He looked like he had been shot, but the wound wasn't immediately fatal. A woman stood nearby him and was holding what appeared to be a big cauldron over his rival's head. The threat was obvious—she would stay like that holding the giant pot over Fraser's head and ready to drop it if he moved before her husband came to consciousness.

Fraser was speaking to the woman and he could just barely make out the words. He was trying to explain their actions to the woman, "The lass is me daughter. She went missing from her mother a little more than a week ago and we've been searching for her ever since. I ken ye think she is your daughter returned to ye, but I promise that the lass's name is Brianna—just as she told ye. I lost a daughter of me own—Faith—and I ken well how ye feel to lose a baby girl, but I swear to ye that she isn't yer Cairstine. Ye may no like our methods, comin' here in the black o' night and me lyin' to ye in the af'noon." Fraser's speech was slurred and slowed and Frank knew that the wounded man needed to get to Claire soon. Or…or…he'd think about that later….

Frank formulated a plan—it should be easy enough for him with the husband currently out of commission. He just needed to sneak up on the wife, subdue her, and then get Fraser to the horse. He reasoned out his chances—the wife was probably getting tired holding that heavy cauldron and he had the element of surprise, but the husband could awaken at any moment and Fraser would likely be little help in his state. However, he knew that the longer he crouched in the bushes and ruminated, the more Fraser bled out and the more likely that MacGuffin would waken.

Ultimately, Frank just decided that he wasn't the kind of man who would crouch in the bushes, grabbed the rope that he had brought with him from the saddle bags and snuck up behind Mistress MacGuffin.

Fraser spied his approach, but revealed nothing to the woman. Frank paused behind the woman to calculate and envision his motions, then proceeded quickly. He knocked the cauldron out of her hands and then grabbed her arms behind her back and quickly tied her up. He wasn't skilled at that sort of thing, but the knots would serve. He went over to Jamie and helped him to his feet. He paused to check on MacGuffin, still unconscious on the ground. It didn't look like he was bleeding or had anything seriously wrong with him, so he felt comfortable getting Fraser to the horse and continuing on.

The husband would be okay once he regained consciousness and the situation had already been explained so the couple would know why their 'fairy-child' was taken.

"Where's Claire and the lass?" Jamie sputtered out as he was helped to the horse.

"They went on to the inn; we'll meet them there."

"The plan was for ye three to go. Why'd ye change it?"

Frank felt unsure how to answer. "Claire changed it. She refused to leave without…knowing what happened and yet it was best to get Brianna away."

"Thank ye, Frank, truly. I couldna managed to get to me horse alone."

Frank waved it off, "I promised Claire. That's all."

They reached the horse, but Jamie had trouble mounting up. Between the blood loss, the gunshot in Jamie's right shoulder, and his left hand that Jack had tried to ruin, he had little strength or dexterity to pull himself up into the saddle and Frank could hardly give much help either. They finally managed when Jamie told Frank to lead the horse over to a log that Jamie could climb upon and give him enough height that he could manage the rest. Frank mounted up in front and spurred the horse in the same direction that Claire's horse had gone thirty minutes earlier.

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Claire was ecstatic and more relieved than she had ever felt in her life to have her little girl back within her arms. Even being torn away from Jamie couldn't compare with the heartache of being separated from Brianna as the girl was so young and unable to protect herself. Throughout the war years, she had seen countless men lose arms and legs, amputated to save their life and with Brianna missing, she understood how they must've felt without an essential part of themselves.

She looked again into Brianna's eyes. Her daughter was scared and confused, but she was safe and unharmed. And yet she still didn't feel whole yet. She wouldn't be able to fully breathe until Brianna could be reunited with her father—fathers, she corrected herself. Claire desperately wanted to finish those miles that separated the two from the inn that they had agreed to meet at should they get separated.

She finally arrived, ordered some stew for them, and paid the tariff at the inn. Once she got Brianna upstairs and in the room, she enveloped her daughter in a tight hug that she hadn't been able to repeat since their initial reunion.

For the duration of the hug, Brianna asked her questions, "Mummy, where's Daddy? Who was that man this afternoon? Why are there no cars here? When can we go home? Are we going to see Rev. Wakeful? Why did that lady think fairies were real? Are fairies real in Scotland? Why didn't they believe anything I said about my name, and you, and even stuff like cars and airplanes?"

Claire then did the same thing as when her daughter was born—she took off the homespun outer dress and got Brianna down to her little girl shift that the MacGuffins had given her and then checked her all over and made sure she was okay. When Brianna was born, Claire had counted fingers and toes and today she looked for bruises, cuts, scrapes, or any signs of abuse.

Satisfied, she then set to gaze at he daughter, caressing her cheeks, her hair, her hands.

"Mummy loves you, loves you so much. You know that right? You never doubted that we were looking for you and coming for you?"

* * *

On the path to the inn, Frank began to contemplate what the future now held. Brianna was found and he wasn't stupid, he'd seen enough to know that Claire would want to take Brianna to Lallybroch with Jamie and not back through the stones with him. He knew she would choose Fraser. He didn't need to hear the words. A thousand subconscious actions and choices of hers spoke that message quite loudly.

This was his last chance—his last, best chance to turn it all around. It would be so simple. The gods had gifted him a priceless opportunity. Fraser was hurt, weak, and bleeding. He wouldn't be able to put up much of a fight. One quick grab for his dirk and one quick shove off the horse and his fate would be sealed. It all seemed so simple, so easy. He didn't want to be Jack, he didn't want to be that cruel, sadistic bastard, but he also wanted to be Brianna's father and not some cuckold watching another man with his wife. He debated his options as the horse continued his long walk—with each step bring them closer to the future—a future that was now in Frank's hands and Frank's making. He just now wasn't sure which future he would decide.

For years other people had described Frank as 'good' and 'solid', even Claire. He had always wondered if he was actually good or if he was just a coward too fearful of the consequences if he did something 'bad.'

Frank remembered Hamlet's most famous soliloquy. He had been thinking a lot more about Shakespeare's poetry since he came back in time since the cadences, syntax, and word choice were so much more similar to the Bard than in his own time.

Thus conscience does make cowards of us all,  
And thus the native hue of resolution  
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,  
And enterprises of great _pitch_ and moment,  
With this regard their currents turn _awry_ ,  
And lose the name of action.

As Frank sat there on the horse with Fraser riding behind him and contemplating his actions, and simultaneously choosing 'non-action', the miles were fading away behind him and his opportunity along with it. He never acted on the impulse and he never decided if it was because he didn't want to hurt the man or because he was too cowardly to attempt it. With each clop of the horse, Frank's last chance to salvage his marriage was fading away into the night and into nothingness.

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Jamie sat on the horse critiquing his plan—trying to pinpoint the weak spots, contingencies he hadn't contemplated, and alternatives that would have served better. He went through that exercise every time he led men on a mission, whether it was cattle rustling, damsel saving, Lobsterback killing, or daughter rescuing.

Tonight, the core mission succeeded and he was thrilled beyond measure for that. Frank had placed Brianna into her mother's arms. The weak spot was that Brianna had to share a bed with the younger 'brothers' and 'sisters' who had been roused when Frank had retrieved Brianna from the bed. That had woken MacGuffin and the mistress and then it devolved quickly. But still, the only blood shed was his own and the gunshot wound was comparable to the one from the night he first met Claire. He was sure when they arrived at the inn that she could work her magic again.

He hoped that Claire and Brianna were enjoying their reunion and he felt so tenaciously anxious to get there himself and give his bairn—his own bairn! It still didn't seem real—the hug he desperately wanted to give her that afternoon and had somehow find the strength to deny himself. She was scared for certain, but also self-possessed since she had immediately understood his switch to French when they spoke earlier that day. He silently thanked Claire that she had been foresightful enough to give her a European education.

He also couldn't wait to know her better. He could already see that she was bonny—any stranger could tell that. He had heard stories about her from Claire and Frank while on the road so he had an abstract notion of her. However, he wanted to know her directly, to watch her reactions to things, to have conversations, and to know her in a way that only family got to.

He hoped they would stay in this time. He knew it would be an adjustment for her. No doubt the twentieth century had many more interesting things to do for a lass with the entertainments and freedom from chores that he had heard described. Jamie was worried that she couldn't adjust to life in this world. Would she always resent it because of her frightful introduction? He hoped to God that she was as resilient and adventurous as her mother.

Jamie then turned his attention to Frank. He had been stunned to see him sneak up behind Mistress MacGuffin, surprised to see him coming to his aid. But then Jamie noticed Frank's posture in the saddle in front of him. Frank was stiff—almost frozen even. Jamie's thoughts turned dark.. Perhaps Frank had rescued him in a moment of heroism that he now regretted as the two traveled towards Claire and Brianna. Jamie knew well that their cordiality and common ground would only last as long as they had a shared goal of finding Brianna. She was now safe and perhaps Frank was thinking to end the ceasefire and this was his perfect opportunity.

Jamie kent he was weak, his right arm unusable, his left hand had never fully recovered. Claire and Brianna were nowhere around, didn't know his fate, and would have to accept whatever story Frank gave them.

Jamie had seen flashes of the fiery Randall temper despite Claire's assurances that her other husband was 'kind'. He wanted to gauge Frank by checking his response, "How did Brianna seem to you?"

"What? Huh? Um, fine," came Frank's stuttered reply.

Jamie tightened his thighs on the horse to stay more secure and reached for his sgian dubh with his left hand. If Frank tried anything, Jamie knew the man would go for the dirk first.

They rode on for another tense, silent twenty minutes where nothing happened except intense internal monologues. One man in turmoil and moral debate; the other in expectation and apprehension.

When they finally arrived to the little grouping of thatched houses that flanked their intended inn, only then did Jamie loosen his white-knuckled grip from his sgian dubh.

"Frank," Jamie began after they had dismounted and tied up the horse for the night in the livery. "I ken that yer anxious to see Brianna, but yer no want to see the lass with me. I understand that and I appreciate yer—yer difficulty. I also thank ye for saving my life, but those two lasses upstairs are my life too. They have been even when I thought I would ne'er see them again, even when they were with ye. I know ye must think me ill bred and ungrateful for sayin' that considerin' what you just did for me, but I'm not."

"Fraser, we manage better by not talking to each other. We should keep it that way. Besides, I would think a gunshot wound should be your…."

Jamie wasn't done yet, "Afore I sent Claire back—back to yer time, I told her I hated ye." Jamie noticed Frank's surprise at that statement, "Hated ye for having the life with them that I wanted for meself. But, I donna hate ye, no at all. Upstairs, are me family—and I ken yer'n too. Regardless, I intend to keep them with me at Lallybroch."

Frank's face hardened to steel, he was not one to be dictated to, "I figured as much about your intentions. I may not be my ancestor and I may not choose his…methods of persuasion, but you underestimate me at your own risk."

"I don't underestimate ye, Frank. I also donna want to make ye feel challenged. I've jus' always made it a habit to speak plainly and honestly."

"So noted," Frank replied in a mixture of sarcasm and bitterness. Frank knew well enough what the future held and what Claire's choice would be. He didn't want it put to him so soon, before he was ready, and before he had decided on his plan.

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Claire heard the brisk pounding on the inn door. Brianna froze, still wary in this strange time and place.

"Claire, it's me and Fraser. He's been hurt, open up," came Frank's voice.

With that message, she threw open the door and saw that Frank had one arm around Jamie and propping him up.

"Jamie!" cried out Claire with shock and concern.

"Daddy!" cried out Brianna with excitement.

Jamie's shirt had blood covering a good third of it and was being heavily supported by Frank who eased him down into a chair.

Claire grabbed her medical kit and rushed over to check on him.

"He's been shot," Frank explained. "I don't think it's fatal. He said it's happened before."

A look of knowing, of whimsy, of shared recollection passed between Claire and Jamie in that moment, "Yes, it has," Claire replied simply with a small smile. "Let's hope he's a better patient today."

After Frank had released Jamie into the chair and Claire's care, his eyes immediately met with Brianna's and he swept her into his arms. "How's my pumpkin'?"

Her tiny fingers reached up to his face and touched the tears at the corners of his eyes, "You're crying too? Just like mummy and me."

Frank nodded, "I missed you very much."

"I'm very, very sorry I ran off, Daddy. Rev. Wakeful just talks and talks so much sometimes."

"It's over now and I think you learned the consequences far better than I ever could teach you, so we'll say no more about it."

"Frank?" Claire called him and with a look and gesture, indicated that she was about to cut off Jamie's shirt to tend to the gunshot wound and hoped that he could keep Brianna occupied.

Frank nodded and walked Brianna over to the window on the opposite side of the room. The window faced south so just the barest hint of sunrise was showing at the far horizon and they could still make out constellations overhead.

Claire turned her attention back to Jamie. Between the hard ride to Loch Achilty, the interminable wait for the rescue in the middle of the night, and the sleepless nights for many nights past, Claire felt so tired that she was worried she might make a mistake. However, the jubilation over finding Brianna and her concern and determination to fix Jamie and prevent infection did much to counterbalance all the physical weariness that would threaten to claim her at most other times.

Her eyes found Jamie's and they shared strength through that glance. They could always reach and sturdy each other and the intervening years had not lessened their ability to pass love and courage between them.

Claire wished for a better antiseptic than just alcohol. Whisky, even glorious, home-grown, home-distilled Scotch whisky could not fix all of life's ills, regardless of how her Scotsman might disagree. She cut off his shirt using his sgian dubh, as it provided better control than his dirk.

With that removed, she could finally assess the gunshot wound and was surprised to find that it happened to be nearly identically to the last gunshot wound.

"God must want you symmetric, Jamie Fraser," she said trying to lighten the mood.

"I hope no, as I need one of me hands undamaged."

Claire smiled at that and circled round to check his back for the exit wound. "Looks like it went clean through. I think you're very lucky yet again."

Jamie reached up with his hand and caressed her cheek, "Aye, one of the luckiest men in all the world."

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Thirty minutes later, Claire had the wound well bandaged and disinfected and she felt satisfied that Jamie would recover fully as before.

Claire called to Brianna at the window. Frank set her down and reluctantly trailed behind her. The moment Frank had dreaded since the moment she was born was now at hand.

He was about to be usurped and while he didn't want to watch, he didn't want to make himself excluded either.

Claire was about to speak to Brianna and introduce the two when Brianna spoke up, "Hello, Mr. Fraser. You were hurt coming for me?"

"Aye, but no need to worry yeself lass for I am fine. I would do anything to see ye safe."

"Thank you, sir. I was scared with those people though they didn't hurt me. They were strange and I missed my parents so much. Thank you. So now we can go home?"

"Brianna—." Claire started.

Jamie gave a slight shake of his head indicating to her that he wanted to have this conversation. "Brianna, right now, tomorrow I mean after we rest up for a bit. We're all gonna go back to my home until we decide what to do next. My home is a lot closer than the Inverness that ye know or yer home in Boston. Verra well, lass?"

"Could you explain why things are so strange here. You look like you belong here more than my parents and me."

"We'll get to that. Ye've had a long day and the explanation will take…time."

"Okay, Mr. Fraser."

"Brianna, ye donna need to call me Mr. Fraser," Jamie paused for a long moment, "I'm yer fa-," Jamie saw Frank wince, knowing what was to come. "I'm yer family," Jamie amended. Jamie held up a lock of his hair. "See my hair? It's the same as yer'n. We're the same."

Brianna reached out and tentatively fingered his hair with one hand and a bundle of her own hair with the other. She put the two together and compared, her little face scrunched up with her study.

"Yes, we're the same." Brianna agreed. "I always wondered where my red hair came from."

"Could ye maybe handle calling me 'papa?" Jamie asked her with a quick glance up at Claire and Frank, who was lingering at a distance, his body half turned.

Shyly, Brianna nodded. And so it was decided, Frank was 'Daddy' and Jamie was 'Papa'.

Jamie put her hand in his, "Brianna, may I give you a hug?"

Brianna glanced back at her Mummy who nodded encouragingly.

"Yes...papa," she replied with a shy smile and was engulfed in strong, sturdy arms that passed her warmth, security, and love as immense as the North Sea.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Frank sidled out of the room, needing to feel something besides suffocating on the image of Fraser family togetherness. Instead, he needed to feel the pain of the burn of alcohol. Frank wanted physical pain instead of the mental and emotional pain he'd been feeling since he first came through the stones. He wanted to block out that pain and he wanted to feel numb instead. He went to the empty bar area in the early morning, found a flask, and poured a glass of whisky and quickly downed its contents.

He looked at the empty glass and saw weakness. His weakness for the last seven years. Frank hurled his glass across the inn. It hit the opposite wall and shattered into a thousand pieces. Frank liked that. He liked throwing the glass, he liked hearing it shatter, he liked watching the breakable glass break into tiny irrecoverable pieces. He liked seeing the shards of glass rain onto the dirt floor. He picked up another glass and tossed that too.

Damage done, glasses broken; buzz and burn gone; Frank sank onto the floor of the otherwise empty ground floor of the inn.

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It registered to Claire that Frank had left the room but she needed to keep her focus on their restored daughter and on her wounded husband.

Brianna was still feeling shy around Jamie and returned to her mother's side. So Claire scooted a chair next to Jamie and brought Brianna up on her lap, hoping her daughter would feel comfortable in her arms and in close proximity to 'Papa.'

"Brianna," Claire began, "you must have so many questions. Some answers may be too difficult to fully explain, but your papa and I will do our best."

Brianna looked around, "Where'd Daddy go?"

Claire smoothed some of Brianna's coppery hair away from her face, "I think he wanted to give you some time to know your papa."

Jamie gave her an encouraging smile, "Aye, I ken that ye only met me yesterday, but I have kent ye and loved ye, me bairn, since before ye were born. Meeting ye yesterday, getting to talk to ye now and hug ye now, it makes me verra happy."

Brianna gave an understanding nod and leaned over to give Jamie another hug, "What's 'kent' mean?"

"Aye, it means known. Where I was a lad, we use some different words. I hope ye'll understand me soon enough."

"Did you grow up in Lollipop? Is that really its name?"

Claire chuckled, "No, it's not Lollipop, it's Lallybroch."

Brianna turned to look at her mummy, "When I touched the stone, it felt like I was Alice and I fell down after the White Rabbit. Things aren't as strange here as in Wonderland, but they're still different. No talking animals yet, but fairies, mummy?"

Claire gave a questioning glance to Jamie and he nodded, encouraging her to give her a proper answer.

Claire adjusted her daughter on her lap to shift her weight, "Very few people have a special ability. I don't understand how or why I have that gift, but I do. Somehow, I have the ability to travel through that stone that you touched in that stone circle when you got separated from Daddy. When you were growing in my womb, before you were born, you also traveled through the stone with me. And somehow, your Daddy was able to come with me when I wanted to travel back through the stone to find you. Your Papa and most people aren't able to do so."

Brianna looked confused, "Travel where? Like to Wonderland?"

Claire shook her head, "No darling, Your favorite book is Secret Garden, right?" Brianna nodded. "You realize that book was written in a time where people did not have things like cars, airplanes, and movies, right?"

Brianna nodded.

"And in that book, Mary traveled from her parents home in India to an uncle's estate in northern England and everything was strange and scary at first for her."

Brianna replied, "But Mary found Colin, Dickon, and the secret garden."

Claire smiled, "Yes, at first, it was strange and unfamiliar, and, in that time, then didn't have things like television, but Mary found new friends and lots of things to love about her new home."

"Yes, mummy, I know. It's my favorite story."

"I'm glad darling, because you are now on an adventure very similar as Mary."

Brianna smiled at Claire and at Jamie like she understood her comparison, "Okay, mummy, so when can we go back home to Boston?"

Jamie reached over and caressed her cheek, "We can discuss this more later. Ye look verra sleepy lass."

On cue, Brianna yawned wide. They had all stayed up through the night and despite the excitement, exhaustion was finally catching up with the lass.

"Would you like to put her to sleep?" Claire asked to Jamie.

His eyes filled with happiness. Claire stood up and passed Brianna into his waiting arms, making sure Jamie kept her balanced on his uninjured side. Her tiny fingers curled around his great ones and her sweet sighs warmed his neck. Brianna yawned again, "Are you going to tuck me in papa?"

Papa, that word from her was one of life's great miracles. All that was lost was now and truly found. His wife. His daughter. Now both within his reach,

"Aye, he answered, "and I hope to sing ye to sleep too. I ken some songs that might help ye sleep as they did fer me when I was a wee lad."

He'd imagined countless times of singing his bairn a lullaby. That was about to come true, about to become real. So many dreams and imaginings from these last, lost lonely years had come true in this last week and within the last 24 hours. He had met his bonny lass, seen her made safe, and gotten to hold her. So many dark days in the cave and in prison, he had felt certain they were punishment for the lies and killings and everything else he had done in the futile hope of avoiding Culloden. He had few memories of his mother, but some of the best were the warm and blurry recollections of her Gaelic songs as he drifted off to sleep. In the last seven years, when he was cold in the cave or the prison and halfway existing in that world between sleep and awake, he would remember his mother singing to him and imagine Claire singing to their bairn. For him to now have that opportunity just seemed so momentous. He just wanted to pause and hold this moment, so he could recall it easily in the future should his life turn badly once more

Jamie carried her over to the bed and managed to lay her down despite his injury. He pulled the covers over top her and Brianna said to Jamie drowsy as she started to drift off, "I hope you come to Boston with us papa."

"Time to sleep, lass," he said before he began the lilting, haunting refrain of his mother's lullaby:

 _Cha bhi mise bhuat  
Cha bhi mise bhuat  
Cha bhi mise bhuat  
Mach air uair no dhà_

Brianna was sleeping by the time he finished the verse, he gave her a quick kiss on her forehead, then her cheek and smoothed her fiery hair back from her face.

By unspoken agreement, neither Claire nor Jamie spoke about Brianna's constant mentions of Boston or going home. Today had been so wonderful and neither wanted to sully the memory. Instead, Claire took his hand under the aegis of a doctor examining her patient and held onto him. She just needed the physical skin-to-skin contact with him, especially now that their Great Worry was over. She leaned towards him and whispered, "I've lost some of my Gaelic, what did you sing?"

He whispered back, not wanting to disturb the lass, but his voice was husky and nearly choked with emotion.

 _I won't be away from you  
I won't be away from you  
I won't be away from you  
apart from once or twice_

Jamie kissed her cheek afterwards, the feather-light contact sending tingles throughout her limbs. He pulled back a few inches and looked into her eyes, gauging her willingness. He interpreted her gaze as acceptance and moved forward to kiss her lips. At the last moment, she turned away, "I'm sorry, I cannot."

Jamie immediately took a step back, "Of course. Forgive me."

"There's nothing to forgive. It's just that things aren't settled between Frank and me. I don't know what he'll say or how he'll react. Until things are decided..."

Jamie put his forefinger to her lips to silence her. "You needn't say anything, Sassenach. You're right and I should probably leave ye with the lass to sleep as well. She might have nightmares from the separation and she'll likely be at peace with ye close by."

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Frank needed to get out of the inn. Day had dawned a few hours ago and he spied many people out in the fields with their mid-morning chores. He wandered out into the surrounding countryside, trying to clear his head and decide his way forward. For almost the last ten years, his life had been hijacked by Claire's disappearance and then adjusting to the circumstances of her reappearance. His life's trajectory had veered off onto this strange course. Frank never planned for this—never would have anticipated that he would be here in 18th century Scotland, getting shoved aside by a strong Scottish warrior.

And the more he hated on himself, the more determined Frank felt to bury that alternate Black Jack self so deep that Brianna or anyone else would never see him.

Frank ended up at a small loch a half-mile from the inn. He didn't know why he would gravitate to a water's edge; but he always seemed to naturally migrate to one. For years, when he was troubled, he would come to a river, an ocean, a loch that was isolated and look out over the water. Regardless of all the changes in his life, the water never changed, the water had no memory. The water was always flat, peaceful, calm.

Frank struggled with finding his way forward in his life. The truth was Claire wasn't going to reject him soon as her husband because he was lacking anything; she just couldn't love him anymore because Frank _wasn't Jamie_. Their actions weren't about right or wrong or about who was married to whom. They were just about love. The truth was Romeo and Juliet were destined for each other and Count Paris or some other interloper just could never compete. Although it galled him that he had been cast into that role.

During that walk he came to acceptance with his path and he plotted his course forward. Life was a gift, despite all its slings and arrows.

Frank knew in his heart and his head what he wanted for his life and for his future. He was sated. He had managed to find serenity and comfort. He wasn't even angry or resentful anymore but still his conscience told him: 'Stop. Slow down. You're at a crossroads. Take your time here at the crossroads and consider all the possible paths of your life. Calmly. Patiently. Deliberately.'

Frank decided to pull the trigger—the _figurative_ trigger, he corrected. He dropped his hands to his side, turned away from the loch before him and back to the inn. When he arrived back, he saw that the broken glass was gone and a half-dozen men were drinking. He ordered a sizeable measure of whisky from the innkeeper and trudged upstairs to the room.

He was surprised to find Jamie sitting on the floor of the hallway outside the room, leaning against the closed door. "What are you doing out here?" Frank asked.

Jamie looked up him; it was difficult to see each other's facial expressions in the darkened hallway. "The lasses are sleeping."

"And you're here why?"

"Men get whisky, they start being a bother. Want to make sure they donna with them."

"In your condition?" Frank gave a rueful expression, "Right, you're a brave, fierce Scottish warrior. You handle a bullet the way others deal with a paper cut," Frank said sarcastically; he then sat down next to Jamie on the floor of Claire's closed doorway and passed over the glass of whisky to share. Jamie accepted it, took a dram, and returned the drink to its owner. "I think we should talk," Frank began.

Jamie looked surprised by this change. Last night, Frank had said it was better that they didn't talk. Frank also wasn't acting bitter or possessive, just matter of fact.

Frank steeled himself to find the strength to get out the speech he had planned for the next few minutes, "You were honest with me with some difficult truths about my ancestor and I felt it necessary now to return that kindness with some honesty myself."

Jamie sensed that whatever Frank was about to say was serious and important. He could tell that Frank was wary of speaking and yet needed to be heard and needed to choose his words carefully.

Frank began, "Claire and I were married shortly before the war. We were then separated nearly for its entire duration—six long years apart and maybe only three days together. She was a nurse in a field hospital, as you know, and I worked intelligence in London or inside the White Cliffs of Dover. And during the war, I realized just how horrific men can be to other men. Sixty million dead in the war; it's a staggering, unfathomable number; it makes Culloden Moor look like a tea party in comparison. Three out of every hundred people on the planet perished in that war. Technology has brought some improvements to our lives to be certain, but that war showed that technology has also made us far more efficient at killing each other. And with my work, I learned the horrible truths of what the Germans—the Prussians—were doing in Eastern Europe—truly unspeakable crimes, including women and children and to entire villages and neighborhoods. Although during that time I desperately wanted to forget the unimaginable horrors of the war and my wife was far away, I never once slept with another woman.

"And then the war ended and we had a brief time together to try to reconnect, but then she disappeared. I didn't know if she was alive or dead, hurt or in pain, forced to leave or had chosen it, and no answers ever pierced through that void, through that awful veil of not-knowing, and for those two and half years of her disappearance while I felt alone and betrayed, I never once slept with another woman.

"And then she came back, pregnant, and mourning her other husband, and I told her I wanted to try again. It was a whole year before we made love again. First, she wasn't ready as she was mourning you, then the pregnancy was high-risk and she was too far advanced, and then she was recovering from a difficult delivery. She would've died in this time, surely. The finest hospitals in America are in Boston and even there, it was uncertain if she and Brianna would survive. They had to fix it so there'd be no more children for her and that sent her into a depression. But throughout that whole year of waiting and watching her mourn you, but also getting this precious little baby girl, I never once slept with another woman.

"So, we finally make love, we're in the middle of it, and…and she says your name-Jamie. I looked down at her, stunned, and she didn't even realize she said it, it just came out, unbidden, instinctually. I never told her either. It doesn't pleasure me none to say all this. I'm a proud man too. It ends soon after that and I get up out of bed. I go out to a pub, find some blond-haired, green-eyed woman and went home with her. For the first time in my marriage, I slept with another woman."

"There's been about a dozen or so women since. I'm discreet, but Claire is an intelligent woman. I'm sure she's figured out at least one of them, but I doubt she really cares that much. She'd probably care far more if it was you fucking around."

Frank and Jamie sat for a while in the silence that prevailed in the wake of his confession. Frank had been discreet, partially because he didn't want Claire to pick up and leave him and take Brianna with her, but mostly because he was worried that Claire really wouldn't care.

He couldn't blame her for that. She had never lied to him. When she came back, she was sincere about her feelings for this Scotsman now before him and she had strongly expressed her doubt that they could ever work. Frank had convinced himself though that Jamie's memory would fade. And he'd been wrong—oh so wrong—and with Jamie now before him, he knew now that Claire's love for him never would.

Frank wasn't the type of man to cut his losses, to admit defeat, and move on. That was why he held on to Claire so strongly seven years earlier and had told her that he could accept her past, her marriage, and her child with this man. But now…but now Frank just wanted to keep his dignity he supposed.

Jamie finally spoke, "I'm no sure why you told me this Frank. I'm no yer enemy, but neither yer friend."

Frank gave a rueful smile, "Have you read Shakespeare?"

"Excuse me, ye mean the playwriter?"

"Yes, have you read his plays, besides _MacBeth_ , of course."

"Yes. King James VI was a great admirer and patron of his. I suppose he's well known in yer time?" Jamie answered, perplexed by this odd shift in topic.

Frank nodded, "Well, I'm speaking now of _A Midsummer Night's Dream_. And in that play within the play, there's a character that portrays a wall that's separating the two lovers, Pyramus and Thisbe."

Jamie was still confused and took a dram of Frank's offered whiskey, "I'm not sure I follow your meaning."

Frank stood up, paced the hallway in front of Jamie, and then turned back to face him.

"I'm just tired of being the wall."

Jamie sat there for a long moment, struggling to understand the connotations of what Frank was now telling him.

Frank sat there watching the facial contortions on Fraser's face. _Jamie_ , he corrected himself, deciding in that moment to drop the childish habit of not referring to him by his given name.

"Jamie, I don't want to be in the middle of you two anymore. Claire hasn't said it plainly, but I'm expecting the words will come soon that she and Brianna will stay with you at Lallybroch. You may think me rude for the metaphor that I'm about to give, but I'll put my position in terms you'll be well acquainted with. When Jack flogged you," Frank saw Jamie stiffen with this turn in conversation, "I'm sure it was painful and awful, but eventually it ended and the bleeding ended. He was your enemy and you knew well where you two stood. It was clean and simple in at least that sense. When it's someone that you love, the lashes may not be as painful, but they never end. They never stop. I've spent the last ten years of her disappearance and reappearance feeling the lashes of the whip on my heart and spirit and I want that to end. I just want it to be over."

Jamie initially rebelled at Frank's inflammatory comparison, but then he just started feeling sympathy for the man. Jamie knew that none of these admissions could be easily said—especially to him of all people and he wondered why Frank would show such profound honesty. "I ken Claire would be heartbroken if she heard ye say that. She cares deeply fer ye."

Frank smarted at the word _cares_ , but it was the truth and useless to pretend otherwise. "I know that, but caring just isn't enough anymore for me. I can't stay just for the sake of pride and petulance. I want more even if it's with someone else. And I don't want Claire to feel bad. There's no bad guys here. The only bad guy in this whole piece is dead. But we do have a complicated situation that needs to be worked through. I can't deny, I can't ignore the fact anymore that Claire fell in love with you. That hasn't gone away for the last seven years. So I'm just going to walk away because I know that's 'the honorable thing.' "

Frank paused, loudly exhaled, and gave Jamie a long look trying to read his reaction. He also felt some small measure of relief. The words had been spoken. The die was cast. He had crossed the Rubicon. "But before walking away, I intend to collect on the debts you owe me and extract a promise. I am willing now to release you of all debts and release Claire of all obligations, all guilt, all responsibility to our marriage, but you better be damned sure I intend to put a condition on it in exchange."

Jamie felt even more uncomfortable with this turn in conversation. "Shouldn't you be talking to Claire about this?"

Frank shook his head, "I will when we return to Lallybroch. I need a few days to prepare myself for that. Not before and I expect you not to speak of this conversation or any agreement before then either. However I am speaking to you first. I know if I have your agreement, then I'll have Claire's too."

Jamie steeled himself for the answer to his next question, "What's yer condition?"

"Brianna."

Jamie's voice turned to ice, his blood went cold, and he asked through gritted teeth, "What about her?"

"I am as I said…resigned to Claire's feelings for you and I am prepared to yield about…"

"What about Brianna?" Jamie interrupted.

"I am not willing to give her up—not entirely."

"Claire and I are her parents—her real parents. I refuse…"

"Three months," Frank interrupted.

"Three months?"

"I want her to come stay with me three months out of every year."

"If you think we're sending her back through the stones blind to ye even once…."

"I'm not going back. I'm staying here in this time, this century."

This conversation had been surprising to Jamie, but still this last statement by Frank left him stunned, "What?"

"Well, I won't be staying in the backwoods of Scotland, that's for sure, but I've decided to stay here in this century. It's an incredible gift—the second best one I've ever gotten. And I'm a historian. Why would I return to the 1900s where I would just hunt things down through surviving papers when I could be here living it and interacting with the people that I know make history? It's an exciting prospect for someone like me and I—I want to stay in this time. And two to three months of every year, I want Brianna to come stay with me."

Jamie sat there stunned, still processing the decision of Frank's,"You want to stay?"

"What professional or personal reason would I have to go back through the stones? I can see firsthand so many of the events and people that I've studied. And I suppose it gives me some small measure of relief knowing that whatever I do, I'm not really going to mess up future events or create some catastrophic temporal paradox and that that makes me feel a little freer with my actions while I'm here."

Jamie nodded, "If all our focused efforts did not change Culloden in one detail, not even to the hour, then you likely have little to worry about."

Frank took a long sip of his whisky, "I would still like to determine Hitler's ancestor and take him out though—at least try."

"Who's Hitler?" Jamie asked.

Frank waved off the question, " It's an incredible prospect, and since I'm sure that Brianna would also be staying in this time, I would get to see her grow older as well and remain as her 'Daddy'. And that's why I need your agreement to this. The only way it'll ever work is with your cooperation and that's why I was willing to bare my soul to you in order to secure that cooperation. If you were serious about the debts you owe me then you will make this work. I am handing over my wife and my daughter to your care —something that I'm not doing easily. You need to make this happen."

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Despite his injury, Jamie got up to his feet. Now he needed to pace. He was stunned, stunned beyond speaking about Frank's admissions and proposal. No one he knew—no clansman in this century in Scotland, he conceded—would conduct such a monologue as Frank had just given. But he knew Frank came from a century where men did not discipline their wives and from a religion founded by Henry VIII where men could divorce their wives.

And yet Jamie realized they weren't so different after all as Frank was showing a willingness to let Claire, and the bairn go. When Jamie had brought Claire back to Craigh na Dun, twice, he had been essentially doing something similar.

Jamie turned to face Frank and he found it bizarre to have developed respect for a man that shared Jack Randall's face. He could tell that Frank was doing his damndest to remain stoic and to reveal nothing in his expression—he'd revealed enough of himself with his words, but they had been words of Frank's choosing and Jamie knew that Frank would stay quite guarded and shielded until Jamie had supplied his reaction to his extraordinary confession.

"On the morning of the battle of Culloden, I knew Claire was pregnant. We'd never discussed it until that morning as we couldn't plan for the future in the midst of battle. However, that morning we knew all our plans had failed and the cost of that failure would be our separation and likely, my death. I took her to Craigh na Dun to give her up and to give up the bairn, with every expectation that I would die that day and certainly never see her again. It was the hardest thing I ever did in my life. I did tell Claire that day that I hated ye, but I also said that I was grateful to ye and I trusted ye. I now ken that ye were worthy of that and ye did accept her back. I was grateful to ye on that day and I am now that I've met ye."

Jamie paused for a moment, noting that Frank was remaining as stone, revealing nothing. "My intention in sayin' this—I ken well what this is costin' ye, especially sayin' it to me face."

Frank's stony demeanor slipped slightly in that moment.

"I ken verra well what ye are givin' up and I appreciate yer willingness to no make this difficult for Claire. And compared to what ye givin' up, I am satisfied with what ye askin'. Claire has an expression that 'the devil is in the details' and I suppose that applies here, but I am willin' to work with ye. I suppose yer right that if'n I am, then Claire will be as well."

With Jamie giving his consent, in part, to Frank's condition, he could see Frank alter slightly. He didn't soften or relax, certainly, but there was a lessening in the harsh lines of his face and in the rigidity of his stance.

"Very well," Frank replied. "I do plan to return to Lallybroch with you and take your hospitality to spend time with Brianna and to make my next plans. I know no one in this time, have no assets, and no name. I have only my knowledge of history and future events, but that should be sufficient to start."

Jamie drank the last bit of whisky from Frank's glass, "I have an cousin who is a wine merchant in Paris and knows many people at the French court. I can write him a letter of introduction and get ye started," Jamie was still feeling weak from the gunshot wound and needed to resume his spot sitting on the hallway floor guarding Claire's door. "Also, please talk to Claire soon though. I ken why ye talked with me first, and want to have yer own plans set when ye and Claire are able to speak, but I feel strange discussing such things without Claire."

Frank had appeared impassive through out much of the conversation, it was probably the only way he could manage to get out the words. However, he now grew fidgety, before he said, "One more thing—this isn't a condition though—it's a….well, after Claire and I speak, well what you and Claire do is your…it's not…it shouldn't be my concern….I would just prefer not to hear… or see…whatever you do…."

Jamie finally understood Frank's meaning and put up a hand to stop his words, "Absolutely."

* * *

 _AN: I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter. It's a lot of talking and longer than I normally post, but I couldn't find a better spot to break it. And thanks again for all your reviews and follows. I sure appreciate them and incorporate the suggestions as much as possible._

 _Jamie's lullaby from:_ _www . omniglot songs / gaelic / baiuoho . php_

 _To be continued. ..._


	13. Chapter 13

The rest of the day was spent sleeping or relaxing. Frank largely kept to himself, feeling he had done enough sharing and talking for one day.

Jamie procured a third horse for the trip back. Brianna wanted to ride with her mummy and neither Jamie nor Frank wanted to share a horse together on the long ride back to Lallybroch.

The four left the inn at first light on the following day. If they rode steady, they would probably arrive back to Jamie's estate sometime midday tomorrow.

Jamie and Frank said nothing about their conversation from the day before. The words exchanged were only to be internalized and known, but were certainly not a prelude to some sort of fledgling friendship.

They had inherited each other in their lives and for Brianna's sake, they would tolerate each other, but could never, ever be friends. Jamie had suffered too much under Black Jack's hand and Frank had lost his family to Jamie.

Frank had tried to mitigate that reality of that impending loss by preemptively announcing his terms for his inevitable separation from Claire. And when Claire came to him, oh so sorry but also oh so determined to end their marriage, he could inform her that he was actually leaving her and that it was all arranged.

It may have been a point of pride, petulant pride, but Frank considered it the best way to extract the best deal for himself. And he got to appear noble and honorable in the process.

He had briefly considered kidnapping Brianna, taking her to Craigh na Dun and going back to the 20th century with her. That way he could avoid a physical confrontation with Jamie that he would likely lose. He had no intention of going into hand-to-hand combat with Jamie ever. In the 1950s, he could effectively paint Claire as an unfit mother and get full custody. However, there were too many unknowns, it was possible that Brianna could go back through the stones and Frank couldn't. Since Frank didn't understand all the rules of time travel, he was wary to try. With that kidnapping scenario, he might have 'won', and it would've felt satisfying for about a day. But kidnapping was the Black Jack way.

Although Frank was conflicted and he wasn't as self-sacrificing and virtuous as damnable Jamie Fraser, he didn't want to indulge his inner demons either. He remembered a saying of Confucius that 'Before you embark on a journey of revenge, dig two graves' meaning that one of the graves is for oneself. He really, truly didn't want to do that. How much was his own moral ambiguity and how much was cowardice, he didn't know.

Besides, if he went back through the stones to the 20th century with Brianna, he would have thrown away the best opportunity of his lifetime. He was a historian and would be able to live within history. He couldn't throw that away—not now, not ever. Besides, the 20th century was going mad, and America and the USSR could escalate their Cold War into World War III. Why stick around for that? At least he knew what conflicts and wars would occur in the 18th century. Armed with foreknowledge about the major players in British politics, the American Revolution and the Mad King, George III, he could rise high in this century.

Returning to the 20th century, he'd be a nobody—just some irrelevant professor at Harvard and at the end, all he would have to show for his life of scholarship would be writing a few books nobody cared about sitting on a shelf collecting dust.

The settlement he made with Jamie wasn't ideal—he was still losing his family to that man after all—but it was clever he thought to do an end run around Claire. When Claire did finally speak to him and inform him that she and Brianna were going to stay at Lallybroch, then he could tell her that actually everything had already been arranged. She'd have to go along with it or risk looking petty or inciting his wrath and he could spill all her secrets about her bigamy to the not-so-understanding people in this less-enlightened century. Besides, it truly was an agreement he could live with and would propel him onward to an exciting intellectual adventure in this century. He felt satisfied that he was doing the right thing, even if it was for mostly the wrong reasons.

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Claire rode on her horse with Brianna in front of her. Every few minutes, she'd lean down and kiss her daughter's head and smell her hair. It had been nearly two weeks since the girl had a bath, so when they had awakened from their nap the day before, Claire had brought Brianna down to a nearby loch and bathed her, with Jamie standing guard.

She worried about several issues on the long horse ride. Brianna was constantly asking about when they were going home to Boston and Claire was running out of ways to deflect her questions. She hoped Brianna, once seeing Lallybroch, would love it and in time would forget the trappings and pleasures of the 20th century that were so memorable to a little girl—ice cream, movies, warm baths, and the like.

Brianna was young still, but not a toddler. She would likely always remember Boston and Claire wondered if it would be harmful to the little girl tearing her away from that world at this point in her life.

Claire also worried about what Brianna would say to all the other people in the house—to her cousins and the servants about all the 20th century frippery they would know nothing about. She and Jamie could probably tell Jenny and Ian the truth about the future. They could be trusted and it would make living with them so much easier and they could help facilitate Brianna's transition. They would also have many questions about why Brianna would call Frank, 'Daddy."

And then Claire's mind turned to Frank. Here she was already making plans about living permanently at Lallybroch with Jamie and Brianna, but what of Frank? He would not just slip quietly and conveniently away into the night. Nor should he. She had promised him and she had promised herself that she would never hurt him again. And yet when they returned to Lallybroch, that was going to be one of the first things she would have to do. But what to do? But what to say? How could she just send him back through the stones knowing that he'd never see Brianna again? He was the only father that Brianna had ever known and all these changes were hard enough on her little girl. She couldn't also take away her Daddy.

But she could never leave Jamie behind and the three of them go back through the stones and return to the 20th century. That wasn't an option. That wasn't even a consideration.

And that circled her back around to her biggest concern, but what of Frank?

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During a water break for the horses and giving Brianna a chance to run around, Claire brought Jamie and Frank into a huddle and asked, "When we get back to Lallybroch, I don't want to censor Brianna or try to tell her that there's things she can't talk about. But how should we explain things? What should we say when she calls you Daddy?"

Frank replied, somewhat sarcastically, "Well, I'm glad you're not going to put a stop to that."

Jamie jumped in, "It is an important consideration. Every tenant and resident of Lallybroch is loyal though. No one turned me in for the entire two years that I lived in that cave close by, despite the price on me head. However, we don't want to get stories started that could look bad for Claire."

"So what do you suggest, Jamie?" Claire asked.

"I think that as long as we act like everything is fine and normal and that we donna see a problem, then we should be fine. I'll speak with Jenny and Ian too. After everything the lass has gone through, I donna want to censor his speaking just because of what Missus Crook might think."

Frank summarized, "So around the servants, the tenants, and the kids, we're all just one big happy family and no one is upset."

Jamie nodded, "Aye, any serious discussions should be conducted out of doors or well in private and far away from prying ears. Servants eavesdrop and tittle-tattle about. It's just the way of things." Jamie turned to Claire, intending to confirm the sleeping arrangements, "I'd recommend that Brianna sleep with ye in the guest room where ye've been stayin'. It'll make things easier on the lass."

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The four rode through the stone archway of Lallybroch in mid-morning on the second day of traveling. Brianna had held up well on the trip, thinking that riding on horseback was great fun and far less boring than sitting in a car even if the trip took a great deal longer.

Jenny and Missus Crook exited the house to greet them. Ian and Fergus were out in the fields and wouldn't be expected home for several hours.

Jamie gingerly dismounted from his horse, still affected by the gunshot wound and reached up to Brianna to help her down from Claire's horse.

He took her little hand and walked her over to his sister, "Brianna, I'd like you to meet your Aunt Jenny. Jenny, this is me lass," Jamie said as he bowed down for a quick kiss of the top of the little girl's head.

Jenny studied her features, "Well, yer definitely a Fraser," then asked to Brianna, "Would ye like to come meet yer cousins?"

Brianna nodded, she looked up at the house and around, "I like your house and nice to meet you, but I really need to use the toilet."

"The toilet?" Jenny asked confused.

Claire stepped forward, "She means the chamber pot, I'll take her if that's okay."

Jenny gestured Claire and Brianna inside and then gave her brother a long look, "She's definitely yours, but where has she been? She doesna talk like she's Scottish or even the English."

Jamie gave a sidelong glance at Frank, "I think it's time I tell ye everything about Claire. Can ye come with me?"

Jenny nodded and she took Jamie's hand and accompanied him to an isolated spot of the fields leaving Frank alone with the silent Missus Crook. Inside the house, Frank could hear Brianna yelling, "Mummy, I still have to pee in a bowl? I thought this place was gonna be nice!"

Frank shook his head; he knew his headstrong, out-spoken daughter wasn't going to adapt anytime soon to 18th century Scotland or to Lallybroch.

When Claire and Brianna appeared five minutes later, Frank gave his still-his-wife an ironic smile, communicating he'd heard a lot of what went on inside.

Claire smiled back, "Well, she does seem to be recovering from her ordeal and the separation. Not so quiet and timid anymore, which is good."

"Yes," Frank agreed, "Silver linings."

Claire looked around, "Where's Jamie and Jenny?"

Frank pointed in the direction they had walked towards, "Telling his sister all about our travels through the stones, I presume."

"Milady?"

Claire looked in the direction of the voice. She saw a tall, handsome young man with endearing brown curls calling to her from over by the stables.

She smiled broadly and ran towards him. He'd grown a lot since the day she last saw him on the morning before the Battle of Culloden, but he was unmistakably Fergus and probably the only person who would ever feel like a son to her. She ran towards him and grabbed him into a tight hug.

"Yes, it's me, it's really me Fergus. I've missed you so."

"I'm so happy to see you and I know ye'll bring such happiness to milord. Wherever have you been?"

"It's a long story and I'm so glad to be with you again. I will explain as best I can, but come, I want you to meet Jamie's and my daughter, Brianna, and…" Claire stopped talking.

"Ye and milord have a child. Oh, milady, I didna know! How wonderful! Is that-?" Fergus was pointing at the little red-haired girl that he assumed was Brianna when he saw Frank. A hurt and fearful look came over his face, "Milady?" Fergus may have been a grown man now of 18, but seeing Frank sent him careening back to that dark, awful day of his childhood.

He looked at Claire, hurt and confused, ready to pull out his dirk and run the man through but did not, because somehow this man was here with milady.

"Fergus," Claire began, "He's not Jack Randall. He may resemble him in looks, but nothing like him in everyway that matters. I would never bring Jack Randall here." Claire led him towards Frank and Brianna, "He is a distant relative of Jack and they share a last name, but Frank is my friend."

When they were close enough, Claire introduced them, "Fergus, this is Frank Randall and my daughter Brianna. This is Fergus Claudel Fraser; he's our foster son."

Fergus's eyes never left Frank's. Frank had extended out his hand, but it went ignored. Frank realized from the lad's expression that this was the boy Jamie had mentioned on that awful night when he'd recounted Black Jack's crimes against him.

Frank pulled back his hand, "It's okay Fergus. You needn't be near me or speak to me. I don't wish to trouble you and I promise I won't take any offense. I am sorry about my…my relative."

Claire gave Frank a grateful smile and decided it best to shift focus to Brianna. She squatted down in front of her daughter, "Brianna, this is Fergus, he's like your big brother. He'll be the best big brother anyone could ask for."

Fergus gave Frank a stiff nod, bit his lip, and then turned his attention to his new little sister.

Brianna, for her part, looked confused. "I don't understand, Mummy. I've never met any family before. It's just always been you, me, and Daddy. Now there's also Papa and Aunt Jenny and cousins and now a big brother Fungus."

"Fergus," Claire automatically corrected.

"Where have they been all this time? Why'd we never visit them before? Why'd they never fly to Boston?"

Claire knew it was time to start answering more of Brianna's questions. "I promise, tonight, you, me, Daddy, and Papa will sit down and try to explain as best we can. As much as we can."

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"Ye really believe this, brother?" Jenny asked for the sixth time.

"Jenny, it'sna that I believe it. I ken that it be true. I brought Claire meself to Craigh na Dun the morning of Culloden and watched with me own eyes as she disappeared and went back to her own time."

"And to this other husband. She's married to ye both."

"Well, when she married me, Frank wasna alive. There couldn't really be betrayal or unfaithfulness in those circumstances."

"Och, what a mess brother. So this is how she knew about the famine and the potatoes."

Jamie nodded, "And she told me in 1744 that the Battle of Culloden would occur on April 16, 1746. She told me the day and the hour two years prior. She's no a seer, she's no a witch. Somehow, she was able to travel here from the future."

Jamie paused to measure her reaction, "I sent her back to her own time. That's why I thought her lost to me forever. That's why she never wrote ye about the lass. Ye can tell Ian, but please no one else."

"All these years while ye was in the cave, alone and cold, or in the prison, getting mistreated by the English, she was bedding this Frank Randall."

"I'll no be holdin' that against her and neither will ye. I sent her back to this other husband so she and the bairn would be cared fer. I did this, knowin' full well that he'd be beddin' my wife. But me pride is no worth her life or the life of the bairn. She woulda died in this century. She couldna survived the second birth here—she barely survived the first and our first lass didna survive. I expected to die that day and me bairn would be all that remained of my existence. What else would ye have me do?"

"Of course I'm glad that yer wife and bairn survived. Give me some time to get used to this fantastical story, will ye? But also forgive me brother if I find it difficult to believe yer so magnanimous about this other husband. Aren't ye the one who stayed away from home for four years because ye thought I made myself a whore to Jack Randall? Ye weren't so practical-headed back then. And yet ye send yer wife off to be bedded by his relative, this Frank?"

Jamie nodded, "Well, on my wedding day, I learned how cataclysmic and life-altering sex can be. But later on, I came to realize that sex can also be irrelevant and empty when Jack Randall made _me_ into his whore. I decided I couldna let that one night ruin me life and I was wrong to react as I did to ye—resenting ye based on Uncle Dougal's words, when I believed that Black Jack had taken ye. Even if Black Jack had, ye would still be the same sister I've always known and I was wrong to stay away those years because of me pride. And Claire is still me wife, regardless of what went on between her and Frank. I ken she never stopped lovin' me and woulda been with me if she could. Today, that is what matters. Please donna chastise her."

Jenny, headstrong and stubborn as all Fraser and MacKenzie women, decided to concede to her brother's wishes. "Aye, ye needna worry about me speakin' ill about her or to her."

"Can ye also help me with the lass? She's no used to things here. She used to things bein' easier where she comes from. That donna make her spoilt, but she's been torn from everything familiar. I donna want her to hate it here—or me."

Jenny pulled him in for a hug, "Of course, my brother."

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When the siblings returned to the house, Jamie asked Claire if he could take Brianna on horseback and show her around the Lallybroch lands. The lass had liked riding on a horse and eagerly agreed, although she was still getting used to her Papa. Claire agreed too, her only concern was that Jamie could manage with Brianna and his still wounded shoulder, but he assured her that he was fine.

When Jamie and Brianna were out of sight, Jenny asked, "Well now Claire, me brother told me some interesting things about ye. Care to talk?"

Claire looked at Frank, "Actually, I need to speak with Frank about something. Can it wait Jenny?"

Frank squeezed his eyes tight; he knew that the moment he'd been dreading for seven years was now here.

Jenny nodded to Claire's question, "Aye, I'll be in the house. Find me later, but donna wait too long, sister."

Claire smiled at Jenny, trying to hide her nervousness about this talk she and Frank needed to have. She couldn't put it off any longer, especially with just promising that they would talk with Brianna that evening. But also, she didn't want to rush the conversation or act cavalier about it as though ending her marriage was something to jam in before the six o'clock supper.

She didn't think everything would be decided this day, but she needed to get a dialogue started and gauge Frank's feelings.

Claire led him towards the spring mill. It was a picturesque setting and she knew how Frank gravitated towards the water. He would find the setting relaxing. There was a tension, an electricity, a nervousness in the air as they walked, talking little. Frank assisted her on rocky outcroppings and he would let go of her hand immediately when the task was completed, as though singed.

When they came to the creek edge and the mill house was in sight, Frank looked away from her and would not meet her gaze.

"Frank," Claire started tentatively.

"Don't. I know what you're going to say, but just don't. I would like to go first."

"Frank, I hope-."

"I'm leaving you," he said, cutting her off.

"What?" Claire was surprised at his words. If she had thought about it, she might have felt relieved, but now was not a time for thinking for her.

"I'm leaving you. It's all arranged. I only just need you to nod and to agree," his words sounded more harsh than he had intended.

"What's been arranged?" she asked, confused.

"I wanted to be the one to say it first. To direct our lives for once. Maybe it's petty. Maybe it's a small thing that matters little at the end of all this, but I did not want you to have the satisfaction of leaving me. I would not allow you to take that extra pound of _my_ flesh."

"Satisfaction? Frank? You've got me all wrong. This is killing me."

"It's been killing me for years. You'll survive," he said bitterly.

Her tears hardened up inside her. If Frank thought that she'd ever cry in front of him again, then he was wrong.

Frank turned and looked away; he couldn't continue it like this. He thought he would have the strength to get though this without making her hate him and without allowing his bitterness to bleed through. He thought he was finished with all that. But here, in this moment of reckoning, he had just allowed his emotions to take over. He looked at her again and found the love that he'd always been able to summon, no matter how deep he'd tried to bury it. He'd meant it on the day seven years ago when she'd told him about Jamie and her travels through time. He did love her unconditionally, even now, despite everything. And even now, he couldn't allow himself to hurt her. "I'm sorry," he said finally, "Let's start again. What were you going to tell me?"

Claire looked suspicious of his sudden change, but she knew Frank's temper and how tightly he controlled it and she had often seen him go through emotional extremes. He was an overly analytical man, constantly thinking and critiquing. Never ceasing in his thinking.

She decided to not be combative, and just answer his question and see where it led, "I was going to say how unfair this has been for you—ten years ago when I disappeared without a trace and…and right now. I won't insult you and pretend that I am tempted to go back. I'm sorry, but I'm not one bit tempted to return to our former life in Boston. Jamie is alive and I cannot move forward with you. I cannot give myself to you anymore. I'm sorry because I know that's unfair. It's so unfair to you. Seven years ago you took a leap of faith with me and I agreed to your conditions and I'm breaking them now. But I'm sorry and I don't know how to fix it for you or how to make it fair for you."

Frank silenced her by putting his forefinger up to her lips and shook his head. He moved his head back and forth, staring into her eyes, assessing her, measuring her. Frank did have those inner demons fighting to reach the surface, the Black Jack part of him needed to be tightly reined in. Often though, his love for Claire and for Brianna would ultimately win out.

"Sshhhh. I don't want us back together either," Frank said calmly, almost reflectively. "We just can't fall back into a relationship because you feel guilty or pity or obligated. I don't want that. I've had too much of that in my life; I've been choking on it for the last seven years. I don't want to waste anymore time in this marriage especially since your heart prefers another."

Frank held out his hand, hoping she'd take it, which she did. He held onto her hand for a little while, tracing the lines and features. "A little bit more honesty these last seven years could have spared us a lot of pain. And that's what I want now. I'd rather say goodbye to you now. Our future, for all three of us, you, me, and…and Jamie is a wide-open road of possibility. There are no expectations or obligations."

"Oh, Frank, you're far more than some obligation to me. You're my husband and I'll never forget our excitement when we got married. I thought it would last forever. I never intended—."

"Hush, it's too late for recriminations. What's done is done. I just want to move on."

"Frank," Claire broke a long moment of silence, "What did you mean by arrangements?"

"I talked to Jamie at the inn and we came to an agreement."

Claire drew back, "You talked to Jamie about us?"

"Well, he is involved, isn't he?"

"What about?"

"I told him that I was staying here in this century and that I wanted to still be in Brianna's life—that she'd live with me for part of year."

Claire held up her hands, "Wait. You're staying in this century—not going back to Harvard. And you want Brianna with you for how long each year? And you discussed this with him without me?"

"Three months," Frank caught her suspicious glance, "You're looking at me like I'm the bad guy here? Really?"

"No, I'm not looking at you badly. I just don't understand. Make me understand."

"I just wasn't ready to talk to you, but I knew in my gut this was coming. I needed to get myself prepared. Besides, I knew if he agreed, then you would too."

"And he did?"

"Yes. He knows what he owes me."

Claire brought her hand up to her face, stood up, and walked around. "And you're okay with all this? I'm being so unfair."

"Are you willing to go back to Boston?" Frank asked, knowing what her answer would be.

Claire winced, "I can't."

"Then I have to be okay with this. What other choice do I have? Would you prefer I go all Black Jack Randall on you?"

Claire shook her head. That was a scenario she never wanted to contemplate, "Of course not. It's just so unfair to you. I know how unfair it is and I hate that. I hate that I'm hurting you again. You've done nothing wrong and yet I'm asking you to give up so much. What can I do?"

Frank found his opening. He hadn't been sure before if Claire would give him this opening, but he wasn't going to let it pass him by. "Seriously?"

Something about Frank's expression made her pause. This wasn't a rhetorical question. He had something in mind that deserved her proper consideration. "What can I do?" Claire repeated, calmly, slowly.

Frank took her hand once more, "I would just like to ask you one thing. I would like to say goodbye to you properly. I'd like to have a few moments with you as my wife. I don't mean make love to you here on the grass. But can I hold you and kiss you and say goodbye as I'd like without being paranoid that you're only thinking about whether you're cheating on your other husband? Can we have a few moments where it's only you and me and you're just my wife—like it was before Craigh na Dun? Just you and me and no Jamie? Now, here at the end? I promise, when we go back to the house, I'll sign a paper saying we're over, we're divorced, and we're agreed about Brianna. But can I be with you, _only you and no ghosts_ , here, now?"

His request was so plaintive, so melancholy that she realized in that moment that for the past seven years, there had always been Jamie's ghost between them. She thought she had buried her Jamie so deeply in her heart for those years that Frank had never felt Jamie as she did. However, she grasped in that instant that Frank had always been aware of the three people in their bed. He had never been fooled.

Embarrassed and ashamed at that realization, she shyly nodded. She took her shawl from off her shoulders, unfolded it, and laid it down on the ground. Claire determinedly pushed the shame from her eyes. Her mind went back to the day long ago when they explored Castle Leoch and they had found the dungeon room that would later become her surgery. There, in those castle ruins, Frank had kissed her and possessed her, and there had been no one else. She focused on that memory and looked up with a sincere smile.

Frank looked down at her shawl on the ground and then back up at her. He bit his lip. She bit her lip. He took this as permission. He walked slowly towards her, hands at his sides. He stopped about two feet away from her. Her eyes were filled with trepidation and regret about how far apart they had drifted. He was nervous and suddenly feeling shy. But loving her had made him impulsive. He relied on that now, though his heart was beating wildly.

Frank brought his palm to her cheek, caressing it with his thumb. His forefinger moved to her ruby lips and outlined their shape. "Claire," he began in a low voice, "I promise I won't misinterpret any of this or complicate matters. I know this is our goodbye."

Claire pressed her body towards his and snaked her arms around his neck. Her lips touched his.

Claire bit back tears and whispered, "I know. This is difficult for me too."

Over and over their lips met, teeth nipping and tongues dancing as he tried to control the excitement before it escalated further. Frank felt her shivering and her heart beating underneath his fingers. He was thrilled to be so close, electrified by the complicated, yet familiar passion that he always felt. She did as he asked and had pushed away Jamie's ghost for these moments. Frank could sense the difference and knew she had temporarily exiled away her other husband as he'd requested. His insides were relieved, awake, terrified. He touched and kissed and felt lost in her lips.

They had sat down on her splayed shawl, but he never tried to lay her down. His hands didn't freely wander across the clothed parts of her body or try to undress her. But it had been enough. He was sated.

At length, he drew back. Their kisses had gone on for long enough. He'd gotten the goodbye that he wanted. He felt suddenly shy again as though something had crossed over, seismically shifted, and that she was now—as he had promised—another man's wife and no longer his own.

His fingers drifted to the gold wedding band on her hand—the ring she hadn't removed during her time here before in Scotland even while wedding and bedding James Fraser.

The pad of his thumb moved across the smooth yellow metal and held up his own left hand so it was near to her ring. "Do you think it's time that we remove these wedding rings entirely?"

He was asking, but in so doing, he was giving his permission to her.

Claire replied, "If so, could you take off mine? You put it on my finger. No one else should have the right to take it off."

Frank spun the ring on her finger a few times, but made no effort to take the ring up over the knuckle. She looked into his face and spied a few tears. She reached up with her free hand and wiped them away, "You don't have to, Frank. I just thought…."

Frank blinked back any remaining tears, "No, you're right. It should be me." He turned his attention back to the ring, not stalling this time, and worked it up and off her finger. He held it to his lips with a brief kiss and then placed it in her palm and closed her hand around it. "Keep it for Brianna maybe. She might want it for her wedding."

Claire swiped away her own tears, "Of course. I'll keep it always unless I pass it on to her." She pointed down at his gold ring. "Shall I?"

Frank nodded. When Claire touched his ring finger, he gripped her hand tightly with his other hand. He held onto her for a long moment before releasing it.

"Okay?" Claire asked to confirm and he nodded once more.

She slowly but deliberately removed his ring, kissed it as he had done, and then pressed it into his waiting palm. She then leaned over and gave him a long hug.

Claire said softly to him, foreheads touching, "You know we'll always be united through Brianna. You'll always be her daddy. She may have more people who will love her here and now, but you won't be replaced for her. I won't let that happen."

Frank stood up and held out his hand, "Shall we go back?"

Claire nodded and clasped his outstretched hand.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Frank held Claire's hand on the walk from the spring mill back to the main house. When they approached the stone archway. Frank paused, kissed her hand and then let her go.

Far off, close to the horizon, They spotted Jamie riding up with Brianna returning from their trip. Jamie rode the horse into the paddock. Frank was tempted to hang back, not really in the mood to see Jamie at this moment, but Brianna made that impossible.

"Daddy, Mummy, Daddy, Mummy, come here!" she called to them. Frank and Claire walked over and Frank took Brianna from the horse while Claire helped her still-wounded patient.

"What did you see?" Frank asked her.

"Lotsa stuff. We met Uncle Ian who has a wooden leg like a pirate. I got to milk a cow and pet a baby cow. Papa took me to a cave where he said he lived for two years." Brianna turned to Jamie, "Papa, can I show Daddy those things tomorrow?"

"Sure," Jamie answered, "but how about ye also bring yer cousins and maybe yer Aunt Jenny?"

Brianna eagerly nodded. Claire thought it was a good idea too. If Brianna was kept busy and involved in Lallybroch life and its people, then that would make her transition easier. On the walk back from the spring mill, Frank had told her of the agreement between him and Jamie that he would stay for another week or two and Jamie's offer to write a letter of introduction to his uncle Jared in Paris.

They also tentatively decided that regardless of what Frank did the rest of the year, that the time he spent with Brianna would be in Scotland, either in Edinburgh or Inverness as the travel time to take her to London, Paris, or wherever else Frank was staying would just take too long in this century. Claire also thought it best for Frank's three months to be over summer due to the easier travel than in the colder winter months.

Frank agreed with the logic of all that as he didn't want Brianna to spend a month in the cold traveling to see him, which over time would make visiting him a chore. He resented the concessions, despite their logic and practicality, but agreed anyway for Brianna's sake. He was determined to maintain a presence in her life and not be forgotten over time from Brianna's consciousness along with carhop hamburgers and Saturday morning television.

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Dinner that night was a noisy affair. The Murrays, while still subdued from the death of their wee Jamie, tried their best to make Brianna feel welcome for her first meal at Lallybroch and rallied all of their other children and her cousins to joviality. To make it easier, the children sat at one end of the dining room table with the adults at the other end. Claire was sitting between Brianna and Fergus and spent much of her time learning everything that her foster son had been up to during these last seven years. She also stole several looks at Jamie. They hadn't had a moment to speak since returning from their afternoon outings and although she and Frank had come to an agreement, she didn't want to be overly obvious in seeking Jamie out immediately.

And yet, even a week since their reunion and seeing him everyday, it still felt miraculous that Jamie was back in her life and accessible to her. If she wanted to see him, she didn't need to conjure up a memory from the past and then fight off the heartbreak once again as she had in Boston. All she needed to do was simply look up from her plate of lamb—prepared special for Brianna's homecoming—and potatoes.

One time, when Claire glanced around, she noticed Jamie giving her an intense, unceasing stare. At the instant their eyes met, Jamie pushed back his chair, "Claire can I see ye in the study for a moment?"

He paced to the dining room door and held it open for her. With all eyes focused now on Claire, she scooted back her own chair and gave Brianna a quick kiss.

She followed him, definitely curious, into the study and as soon as the door closed behind her, Jamie swept her into his arms, leaned her back, and imposed a passionate, hungry kiss. At first stunned at his ferocity, she initially pressed against his chest. When that maneuver proved futile, she decided she didn't want to fight against this sweeping tide and put her arms around his neck and melted into his embrace. When her knees started to give out beneath her, Jamie steadied her with his strong arms and leaned her against the just-closed door.

After about a thousand very fast heartbeats, Claire needed some air and backed up a wee bit, panting. "Jamie?" she finally managed to ask.

In answer, Jamie lifted her left hand and kissed the finger now missing a gold band, "Are ye mine, _mo nighean donn_?"

Claire smiled—it was a shy, but rapturous smile. "Yes. I'm yours. I've haven't wanted to be anyone else's for a long time. Since before the first time you took me to Craigh na Dun though I wasn't prepared to admit it at the time. The truth is that I gave myself to you, heart, mind, body, and soul, that day at Castle Leoch when you pledged your fealty to me with your holy iron. I knew then that i had married the rarest of men and that my heart and my fate were entwined with yours for all time."

Claire paused and looked down at her ringless left hand—her silver band remained where it always belonged on her right. "Frank and I discussed it this afternoon when you were with Brianna. We still wanted to write out some paperwork—it's not necessary for legal purposes in this time of course—but just to make sure there's no misunderstanding and to finalize it in our heads. I know you're aware about the part concerning Brianna, and you'll probably need to sign that part too indicating your consent."

Jamie, not wanting to break physical contact, compulsively caressed her flushed cheek, "He asked me no to say anything afore him. But when I saw ye and him without yer rings at supper, I couldna wait for a kiss any longer. I think as long as he's here, for the sake of politeness, ye should stay in the guest room with Brianna—it's better for her anyway to adjust. I'll get ye back in the Laird's bed soon enough." He flashed her a wicked, mischievous smile. "Come away with me tomorrow though. There's someplace I wanna show ye."

A broad grin broke out across her face. She knew Brianna already had plans with Frank and her cousins. She went up on tiptoe so she could lean into his ear, making sure her hot breath would create tingles as she whispered, "I'm all yours."

The couple attempted to surreptitiously re-enter the dining room, but failed miserably in that task. Fergus called out, "Milord and Milady, we missed you," while Brianna said, "Mummy, your hair's weird now. Hi Papa."

Only Frank doggedly tried to continue his conversation with Ian.

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After supper, Frank was in the library, ostensibly on scholarly pursuits, but he really just needed a place to think about his next step in life and libraries had always served him well for contemplation.

The door slowly opened and he knew instantly from the outline who it was.

"Frank?" Jamie asked as Frank sat well against the wall, recessed into the shadows.

"Yes, just partaking of your library. As a historian, I know you have many books and documents here that would be treasures in my time. Merely taking advantage."

"Aye, please do, but Claire had mentioned us sitting down with Brianna tonight."

"Right," Frank agreed. "I think that's best. Probably should be all of us."

"Claire's just helpin' her now with the privy. They should be in directly." Jamie wanted to say something, anything about what had occurred that afternoon, but he couldn't think of anything that didn't sound self-serving or patronizing. He figured that for tonight at least with Frank, he'd keep the conversation solely on the safe territory of Brianna.

Brianna bounded up to Frank when she entered the library, "Watcha reading, daddy?"

"Your…papa has many different books than what I've read before. I'm just looking through them. I'm not sure if there's any you'd be interested in though. I might need to tell you stories from memory rather than reading to you at bedtime now."

"Why so?" she asked.

Claire came and sat down nearby, "Well darling, that's why we're all here to talk to you." The grown-ups had agreed beforehand not to tell Brianna they had traveled through time. That concept would be difficult for Brianna to grasp and if she repeated it, then the story could get out too easily and spread around. They would tell her that part of the story when she was older.

"Brianna, you know how the part of America where we lived was called New England?" Claire asked and Brianna nodded. "Then we came to 'just England' and then we traveled to New Scotland and met Rev. Wakefield and Mrs. Graham. Remember them?" Brianna nodded. "Well, now we are in Old Scotland and it's not as easy to travel between Old Scotland and New Scotland as it was to travel between New England and England. Old Scotland is where I met your Papa and he's always lived here along with his family. However, now that we're all here. We, all of us, Daddy, Papa, you and me have decided that we'll be staying in Old Scotland for a long time to come."

Brianna's face was scrunched up, confused, but she let her mummy keep talking. "They don't have some of the things that you're used to in New England; they just don't need them. I know it will be tough to get used to their ways being so different, especially things that may not make sense like not having cookies available everyday, but here you'll be surrounded by your cousins and lots of family and I know you'll get accustomed to life here. I know you're a big, brave girl and it's okay to miss things from New England. There are parts that I'll miss too, and you can talk to us anytime about it if you want. I would ask though that you not talk all the time about the differences between Lallybroch and New England. It might make them sad like when your school friend mentioned that she was traveling to California for the opening of Disneyland this summer. It was no problem telling you that, but it made you sad that you weren't going too. It's kind of the same thing. So you don't need to talk about cars and airplanes and stuff like that to your cousins. It's okay if you speak of those occasionally, but it might be more polite not to."

Brianna's face started to scrunch up, but this time from sadness not from confusion and little tears came down her face, "We're never returning to Boston? I can't say goodbye to my friends? I told them I'd be back. Is this because I ran off? I'm sorry, mummy, daddy. I truly am!"

"Darling no, it has nothing to do with that and I'm sorry that you can't say goodbye to your friends. The goodbye you gave them before we left will have to do. It's not perfect, but you will make new friends here."

Frank spoke up then, "Brianna, there's something else you should know that we've decided. It's always been just you, me, and mummy living in one house by ourselves. Well, we're going to change it slightly. For most of the time, you're going to stay here at Lallybroch with your mummy, your cousins, and this whole houseful of people. And for about three months out of the year, you'll get me all to yourself. Will you like that?"

"I don't know what you mean, daddy."

"I won't be living here at Lallybroch with you. I'll be leaving in a few weeks when I get some things arranged. But I'll always be your daddy and I will always love you very much. You know that, right?"

"You're leaving us? You're leaving mummy and me?"

Jamie was about to speak up then, to try to claim responsibility and the blame, but Frank shook his head, "Not forever and you'll be so busy, you won't even notice and we'll be spending lots of time together over the next few weeks and then when you come visit me, then you'll have me all to yourself. Okay?"

Frank regretted bringing this up tonight to Brianna. He probably should've waited until closer to the end of his stay, but it was said now. And no going back.

"Do you have any questions?"

"When you leave Lollipop, are you going back to New England?"

Claire and Frank exchanged a smile with that question, "No, I'll be staying here in Old Scotland," Frank replied, "Just at a different place. We can write each other too for the months we're apart, but I will always be a part of your life. Your mummy and I will make sure of that."

With that, Brianna nodded and yawned and gave an adorable, tired sigh. Frank scooped her up, "Let's put you to bed lass." He turned to Claire, "where is that?"

Claire reached up to straighten out Brianna's dress, "She's staying in the guest room with me for these weeks," she replied, hoping that Frank would understand the several meanings—that she wouldn't be moving back into the Laird's room while he was still here.

Frank gave her a long look of understanding, "Good, that'll help her with the transition. Afterwards, we should write out and formalize our agreement. It's just between the three of us of course; it might be problematic for anyone else to see it. But still it's best to put it in writing and make sure we're all agreed."

Jamie nodded and hung back as Claire and Frank left the room with his daughter. He was still a stranger to his lass, but he knew that would change over time. He just felt so gratified to have the opportunity now to be with his daughter and watch her grow up. With the agreement today between Claire and Frank, his wife and daughter had been fully restored to him—a gift he had never, ever anticipated. Besides, Frank wouldn't have much more time with the girl before he left and it would be almost a year before he saw Brianna again. Jamie wouldn't begrudge their time together or Brianna's current partiality to Frank.

In their absence, he gathered together the necessary paper, ink, and a quill.

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Claire woke the next morning to little fingers tickling her chin. "Good morning, darling," she said as she reached an arm around her daughter to pull her into a snuggle.

"Your hair," Brianna said with sleepy, but smiling eyes.

Claire reached up and touched her cheek, "Yes, I'm here. I wanted to make sure you didn't have any nightmares."

That made Brianna giggle, "No, I meant 'your hair'; it fell onto my face and some got into my mouth."

"Oh, sorry baby, go back to sleep."

Brianna nodded and closed her eyes again. Claire thought about everything that had happened in the last 24 hours. She'd been so worried about Frank's reaction and everything working out with him. Frank had allowed some of his bitterness to show through, understandably so, but he'd still come up with a solution that worked for him, allowed him to stay in Brianna's life, and still allowed her marriage with Jamie to move forward. It still didn't seem like a fair solution for him, but Frank was okay with it and it was workable. Under the circumstances, that was probably the best they could hope for.

Last night after they put Brianna to bed and Frank and Claire returned to the library, they wrote out the agreement. Actually, Jamie wrote it since he was the most practiced with quill and ink. It was written only for the three of them, but they still chose language that wouldn't be damaging if anyone else ever found it. So, it simply reaffirmed that Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp Fraser was the wife of James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser. Their natural-born daughter, Brianna Randall Fraser, would spend three months of every year, preferably in summertime and within Scotland, with their good friend, Franklin Wolverton Randall. That JAMMF would travel with BRF at the beginning of the summer and deliver her unto FWR and that FWR would travel to Lallybroch at the end of the summer and return BRF to her parents. If BRF was orphaned by her parents before attaining her majority, then full custody of the minor child would go to FWR. The Frasers would not leave Scotland, and sail to America for instance, while BRF was a child without the agreement of FWR. The decision of who would walk BRF down the aisle when she was married would be made by BRF.

No mention was made of Claire's and Frank's now-dissolved marriage as it was no longer relevant and not a part of the legal record in this century. By their signatures on the document, each would acknowledge that the marriage of Jamie and Claire was the undisputed and legal one.

Claire noticed that Frank white-knuckled the quill when his turn came at last to sign. She put her hand over his shaking one, "Frank?"

That gesture stayed him and he signed in a quick flourish and quickly dropped the quill. Claire understood that his pride would not allow him to show his difficulty in that moment.

Frank had said then, "Take care of them," to Jamie and not waiting for a response, turned to Claire and said, "Have a good life," before quickly exiting the room though paying care that he didn't slam the door.

In the silence that followed, Jamie drew Claire into a tight hug, offering her comfort and strength through his body. Neither felt stirred to passion in that moment—that would come later. But each felt the serenity and quiet joy of coming home—of finding reconnection with that lost part of oneself.

CF-JF CF-JF CF-JF CF-JF

When Claire finally roused Brianna and herself from bed, she dragged herself to the wash basin and stared at herself in the looking glass nearby. Claire was surprised at her reflection. She caught herself smiling. She was actually smiling and feeling something very much akin to happiness.

When they went downstairs, she realized they had missed the breakfast and that Fergus, Jamie, and Ian were already in the fields and that Frank was in the library. Jenny said that Jamie would return at midday as he wanted to take Claire on an errand in the late morning.

"Ye hungry?" Jenny asked. "We saved some for ye and the lass."

"For Brianna, please."

Jenny turned to her niece, "Run into the kitchen lass and ask Missus Crook for some parritch."

Claire started to follow, "I should go make sure she'll be okay."

Jenny stepped in front, "She'll be fine. I'd like to have our talk now."

Claire stooped down in front of Brianna, "Darling, did you have parritch with the MacGuffins?"

She nodded, "It wasn't good. I'd rather put it in my shoes and stomp around in it all day rather than eat it, mummy."

Claire smiled at that, "Ask Missus Crook to add some honey. You'll like it better."

Brianna loudly groaned and sighed, "Okay mummy," and trudged toward the kitchen.

With Brianna sent off to the kitchen, Jenny turned to Claire with an unabashed appraising look, "Care to walk outside?"

Claire held out her hand, "Please, lead on."

"So, sister," Jenny began, "Well, are ye my sister?"

"Yes," Claire replied, "Jamie and I are married and I hope never to leave him again."

"And what of yer other husband?"

"We've settled it and Frank will be leaving soon. We were both raised Protestants. In our time and in our religion, it's more acceptable to dissolve a marriage. We're both trying to make the best of incredibly unusual circumstances and trying to remain as friends—or rather on friendly terms. This is a delicate, difficult time for him; please don't say anything accusatory to him."

Jenny's pregnancy was bothering her and she put a hand on her back to reduce that strain, "I donna want ye to hurt me brother again. He came here after the Battle of Culloden, broken hearted and verra aggrieved. He spent two years in that cave and would come here once a month to shower, feel human, and get new books. However, he didna feel human, he didna feel alive because ye was gone. That's all he ever said about ye—that ye was gone."

Claire reached out her hand, hoping to reassure her, "I didn't want to leave him. He brought me to the stones, not by my choice, not by my will, but i saw the logic in it for our baby's sake. He is the love of my life and I am thrilled beyond measure that I am back here. There's no place and no time on this earth that I would rather be than here, with him, as his wife and as the mother of his child. That's all I want. That's all I've ever wanted since that dark day that he placed my hand on the stone which sent me away."

"I still donna like this Frank Randall of your'n under this roof and ye askin' Jamie to tolerate him. If he makes a cuckold of me brother, then I will cut off his bollocks meself and feed 'em to ye. Understood?"

Claire's eyes widened, Jenny's imagined scenario was so far away from reality that she almost couldn't stop herself from laughing, "That is the last thing you ever have to worry about. Frank and I are inexorably over. Frank understands this."

Claire reached out and took Jenny's hand, "Jenny, I hope to stay here with Jamie and Brianna and I don't want there to be tension between us. This is your home far more than it is mine. I know well that you and Ian kept up the home and the estate when Jamie couldn't—when he was an outlaw, when he was fighting with the Jacobites, when he was living in the cave or imprisoned. Lallybroch wouldn't have made it without you. I don't want you to feel uncomfortable with me and I hope there's a way you can come around to accepting my strange past and the strange family life that has been thrust upon us. I hope for Jamie's sake that we can find some harmony."

Jenny softened, apparently satisfied then, "As long as ye love my brother and make him happy, then ye and I willna have any quarrel."

Claire smiled at that, "Well, then we shouldn't have any problem because we want the same things."

"So, ye and the lass are here to stay?"

"I'm not sure how long Jamie wishes to live here, so I cannot speak for him, but I hope so. Regardless, my place will always be at my husband's, _Jamie's_ side."

"Verra well and welcome _back_ to the family."

The thunder of hooves stopped their conversation at that moment as Jamie drew up beside them. He had come from the direction of the house and had an impish gleam in his eyes that proved contagious. "Ah, here are two of my three favorite lasses, I was just comin' to fetch ye, Sassenach." He held out a hand and vacated the stirrup so Claire could mount up, "Care to join me?"

Claire eagerly took his hand and pulled herself up astride the horse.

Jamie called back to his sister as they galloped off, "Ye should likely expect us back afore supper, Jenny."

Claire didn't know the destination, only that she loved the feeling of the wind in her hair and the feeling of leaning against Jamie's broad chest.


	15. Chapter 15

_Personhood Reminder: Not Ronald Moore. Not Diana Gabaldon (If I were, I probably would've met Sam Heughan at some point, but alas, I never have.)_

 _Rating Reminder: T, but with adult themes (I don't do explicit stuff)_

 _Reader Awesomeness Reminder: Thanks for your reviews, your follows, and you're checking back in._

 _Swoon Reminder: Freely acknowledge that my writing of Jamie and Claire cannot match the poignancy of the portrayals by Sam Heughan and Caitriona Balfe._

* * *

Chapter 15

After twenty minutes on horseback, Jamie reined the horse near a rocky outcropping.

"Wherever did you bring me, Jamie Fraser?" Claire asked with a playful, but innocent look.

Jamie swung off the horse and then assisted his wife. He tethered the horse to a nearby tree and grabbed off the satchel he had tied to the saddle.

"I wanted to show ye the cave where I lived for two years. I wanted ye to ken my life during our time apart and I want to replace those memories of this place with different ones. Better ones."

Jamie held out his hand and she took it. He led her past the cave mouth and deep within. It was pitch black, but Jamie made the journey effortlessly, obviously familiar with every twist and turn. Claire stayed close up against her husband, not wanting to trip on an errant rock or stalagmite.

After a few minutes, he stopped and her forward momentum propelled her into him. He reached out to steady her, inadvertently cupping her breast in the dark. He didn't let go though, instead he whispered, "I meant to save that for later."

Claire put her hand over his and whispered back, "We've waited long enough. I know I have."

Jamie lit a candle using a striker and Claire got her first glimpse of the large 'room' within the cave that had been her husband's home for two years. It was a large hollowed out section of the cave, about the size of her surgery back at Castle Leoch. Jamie had fashioned book shelves and a tiny canal that brought fresh water from a different part of the cave to flow through continuously. He'd carved out a hearth and narrow chimney that he lit next. The pots, pans, and books he'd used during his two-year stay had long since been restored to the great house. However, there was a bed in the corner, piled high with blankets and furs and in the opposite corner was a table with two hewn chairs, already set with dinner plates, utensils, delicate wine glasses, and what she recognized was one of his Cousin Jared's bottles of wine.

Claire immediately warmed as Jamie continued to light candle after candle. She knew the candle making process was time consuming and laborious and though she objected to the unnecessary waste on principle, she wasn't going to spoil Jamie's plans. This was their second honeymoon and the new start of their life together.

Jamie then unpacked the satchel he had carried and brought out bread, cheese, and salted ham. "Will ye take a seat, wife?" His eyes were intense, but playful. His gaze alone could make her come undone and though she hadn't eaten since the night before, she truly didn't need food in that moment.

Claire took her seat and poured the wine for them. "Jamie, you have made this cave into something amazing—what could have been dark and depressing you have brought in such light and joy. I'm not surprised though as you worked the same magic on my life."

He reached across and took her hand, running his finger across her silver ring and encouraged her to drink and to eat the bread and cheese with her free hand. She nibbled, but there were dragonflies fluttering in her stomach as she reveled in everything Jamie had arranged that morning.

" _Mo nighean donn_ ," Jamie began, a serious look overtaking his face, "I wanted ye to see this place. For two years this was my world and it was a solitary, miserable existence. I had sent ye through the stones believing I would be dead within hours. I never intended to be here with only me memories. Those early days after I lost ye were some of the worst in my life—worse in some ways than those days in the abbey. I'm no telling ye to make ye feeling sad, but I wanted ye to see this place and help me make it anew into something beautiful and to take away all the bad memories and replace them what I had thought were impossible dreams. Those years of isolation, of being idle, of seeing nobody, and forever lost to ye—they were difficult but I survived them. I want ye to ken who I am now. I may be different from the man ye remember even the man ye knew after Wentworth, but I still love ye as much as always. As much as I may have changed and adapted, that will never change for me."

Claire squeezed his hand tightly, "I'm glad you brought me here. I want to know your world—the good and the bad, the joyful and the painful. I know I cannot bring you to my world—I mean the one I grew up with and taught me to be a healer—but that truly isn't my world anymore. I've known it these last seven years when I was living in Boston that I didn't belong there anymore. You pledged after we were married that you would stop acting according to your father's and his father's expectations. You said that we could find our own way in our marriage though you didn't know at the time that I needed you to be more like a 20th century husband. I'm prefacing this because I know I may sound far more like an 18th century wife than a 20th century wife when I say this, but my place is with you. I tried training to be a doctor in Boston and having a career, but that life just doesn't work for me anymore. I am gladly giving all that up. I would much rather be Claire Fraser than Dr. Claire Randall, although I'm still sure I'll be able to help just as many people in this time," Claire paused for a moment before adding, "I think I'll also be a much better mother here."

Jamie drank half of his glass of wine, "Ye ken our lass far better than I, do ye think she will adapt to life here? All these changes, all these people, and she'll have me instead of…of Frank."

Claire gripped his hand, "She will love you. I'm sure she already does. She is my daughter and I know well how effortlessly you stole my heart. It will be as easily done with Brianna," Claire paused to take a small sip of wine. "The truth is I raised her to be your daughter. I didn't want to be obvious enough that Frank would have objections, but I taught her French and chess because I thought those were things you might have done. She was learning piano and I had her overwhelmingly play Scottish songs—it's her heritage and in her blood. I knew she would miss out on so much growing up in Boston that I wanted her to have exposure to her Scottish background where she could. Play chess with her—she's actually quite good. She loves fanciful stories and you're a wonderful storyteller. You don't have anything to worry about as I am confident that you will capture her heart as you did mine."

Claire finished with an encouraging, endearing smile.

Jamie sat for a moment, mulling over her words and thinking of ways to connect with his daughter. He had missed out on her first years. He had never cradled her as a baby or helped her learn to walk or goaded her into saying her first word. Those memories belonged to Frank and even now, Jamie couldn't help but feel slightly jealous and possessive of his family.

He set down his wineglass, "Frank told me something. He didn't tell me to gossip; it was appropriate in the context at the time. However, he told me that ye and Brianna almost didna survive her delivery, that there were complications, and that…that the healers made it so you canna have any more children."

Claire started to speak, but Jamie rushed on, "For that, I'm glad I sent ye back. That ye and the bairn would have access to the healers in your time. I'm also glad that the healers made it so you canna have any more. I couldna make love to ye if I thought ye would get pregnant and it would kill ye. The family we have—ye and Brianna mean far more than the great risk of having more. I've seen too many women die in childbirth. My own mother included. I couldna bed ye, knowing that I could bring ye to the same fate. I couldna do that to you. So I'm relieved-."

Claire squeezed his hand, "Jamie, stop. I lied to Frank."

Jamie's eyes grew wide and confused. "I never thought that lie would come back to haunt me. I certainly never conceived of this chain of events in which Frank would tell something like that to you. But you see, Frank cannot have children and I knew it bothered him. It was another slight against his manhood, another way that he found himself lacking compared to you. He already knew that I had loved you deeply and it galled him that you could give me a child while he couldn't. I thought it might make him feel better that the reason there would be no more children for us would be as much my responsibility as his. It was a white lie, meant to ease his mind, ease his responsibility. But the truth was, I was glad he was sterile. I didn't want his children. I didn't want to have anyone's child except yours. And I assumed that meant it would only be Brianna for me, for always, and that's what I preferred."

Jamie still looked perplexed, "So you didn't have a difficult pregnancy? You and Brianna weren't at any risk?"

Claire shook her head, "We were. I had this medical condition called fibroids that can affect the womb. I didn't know about it before, but I had them also with…with Faith. After Brianna was born, the doctors surgically removed them, which meant they were no longer an issue with my carrying a child to term. In my annual examination, the doctor always checked for that and it has never been a problem since. So, I am now a healthy, normal woman and perfectly capable of giving birth to a healthy baby. And you, Jamie Fraser, as my husband, don't say you cannot bed me. I fully expect you to make love to me and daily, sometimes hourly, sometimes passionate, sometimes tender, and sometimes the back way like horses, ye ken? If you don't, then I will tie you to whatever bed is close by and I will take you instead. Do you understand me James Fraser?"

Jamie licked his lips and smiled at that, "Aye, aye, Sassenach." He turned serious, "When I do get ye pregnant then, Frank will realize that ye lied."

Claire reached under the table and squeezed his knee. She gave a passing thought that when he wore his kilt, his knee would be bare and her access to was so much easier and more convenient, but now the bloody English made the Scottish men dress in britches—another grievance she had with this century's damnable English—and his knee was covered. "I'll confess my lie to him, but Jamie, let's stop talking about Frank right now."

Jamie nodded as he realized her hand was inching its way up his thigh.

"Claire," Jamie began, interrupting her hand's trajectory, "did ye ever learn about Plato's Allegory of the Cave?"

Claire tilted her head to look up at him with an amused smile, "Plato? You're thinking of Plato right now?" Jamie nodded so she answered, "I remember that vaguely from my undergraduate classes, but that was the semester that Germany invaded Poland and classes was cut short due to the war so I don't remember too much."

Jamie smiled; his beautiful, intelligent wife had taught him so much about medicine and the future that it was good to provide her with some book-learning too. He scooted his chair over so he was sitting next to her, not opposite and he took a quick sip of his wine. He swept her hair aside so he would have unfettered access to her neck. "It's a story Plato told about people who lived their entire life in a cave and chained so they canna move and can only look forward. And no, I dinna ken how they managed to eat or use the privy, but let's assume they dinna. These people canna see the fire that is burning behind them or feel its heat; they can only see the shadows of objects projected onto the wall that they're staring at. For their whole life, for their whole existence all those people ken are those shadows on the wall. They dinna ken the real fire or the real objects behind them and they certainly dinna ken about the sun, which is so bright it makes even the fire appear dim in comparison. All they are aware of is darkness and shadows."

Jamie said all of this while continuing to kiss her neck, "Then one day, one person is freed from his chains and is able to look around. The firelight is blinding to him though and he fights against the person who freed him from his chains. But finally he's able to see the fire that has been behind him this whole time and he's finally able to understand that the shadows are no real. They are merely a reflection of what is actually real. And in that understanding, comes truth, and with that truth comes the hope of a better life. A life where he gets to live out in the world, see real objects, interact with real objects and other people, and understand the sun as the source of all light and life. He is no longer imprisoned by his false conceptions and living half a life. He now kens what is real."

Jamie leaned down to whisper into her ear; his breath was hot on her neck and tickled her ear. "Before I met you, I was that prisoner. I had no idea what real love was—all I ever knew was shadows. All I had were pale imitations of life and love—silly kisses with silly lasses. You freed me; you unchained me and released me to a far, far better life. I ken what love is now. I ken what is real. I ken it with you."

Claire had tears in her eyes hearing Jamie's incredible admission of love. He was giving her all this incredible credit for loving him and this made her feel so incredibly special. For years with Frank, she had felt like nothing because unfortunately, she had felt nothing as a woman. Her only roles were those of mother and medical student. Jamie was awakening her back into her full life.

"I am not an easy man," he continued. "I don't have an easy past or a simple mind in here," Jamie poked at his temple. "It will likely never be an easy life with me. I'll always be loving, but I'll likely also always be difficult."

She turned her head to face him; she brought her hand up to caress his cheek and then wiped the tears from her eyes. They watched each other for a long moment, neither wanting to break the spell. "Jamie, I would rather do 'difficult' with you than easy with anyone else. But I will disagree with you on one point. You may not have a simple mind—thank goodness, because I need a man who can keep up with me—but you love simply, you love wholly. And I love that about you."

After about a hundred heartbeats, Jamie lightly kissed her lips and then leaned over to retrieve a small box.

"Open it," he prodded her, "I promise it won't bite. I might bite ye, but the box won't."

She eased the lid off the box and gasped when she saw what was inside—they were his mother's pearls, the ones he had given to her on their wedding day and she couldn't take with her through the stone. When he'd given her the pearls, he had been shy in his admissions, but was so achingly honest all the same. He had told her that although she was almost a stranger to him at their wedding, she was still very precious to him and that she was worthy of his late mother's possessions.

Claire reached out and fingered the delicate pearls, "They're beautiful as they've ever been. I'm so grateful you were able to hold on to them. Can you put them on me please Jamie?"

He stood behind her and did so, then encased her in a tight hug. She could feel every part of his body and his arms were securely wrapped around her. His left hand rested on her stomach and his right hand held hers. Claire reveled in his scent, in feeling his breath on her neck, in knowing that they could stay this close all day.

"I hope we can start our marriage again this day," Jamie whispered into her ear. "I hope there's no more Jack Randalls, Charles Stuarts, or standing stones. I want my forever with you to start today."

Part of Claire inwardly rebelled against that notion of forever. Perhaps it was losing her parents at such a young age, never having a stable home, and being moved around from place to place. It had been exciting childhood, but not grounded. Jamie was grounded, as solid and as durable as the land of Lallybroch or the stone archway that marked its entrance. For Claire, things were complex, complicated, and conditional. Everything must be qualified and given shading. For Jamie, things were simple and uncomplicated and his love was unconditional. She just hadn't grown up with that and it appealed to her. That was part of the reason she loved him so much. And yet, it wasn't just those simple qualities that bound her so strongly to him. It wasn't his acceptance, his cleverness, his bravery. It wasn't any single trait or combination of traits—it was _him_.

She wasn't sure when it happened since it had been so gradual so she couldn't pinpoint an exact instance or exact moment when they had crossed over from friends to soulmates. Maybe soulmates was the best word to describe them. Her life, her destiny, her every thought and action now and for the rest of her life would be inextricably bound with his. It seemed like it transcended beyond marriage, beyond vows, beyond logic. She had taken those wedding vows before, but that relationship with Frank didn't seem anywhere near as permanent as this assurance of loving him and being united with him on some profound level for always.

Before Jamie, she had never believed in _always_ before. She had seen too many lives, too many homes with her Uncle Lamb, too many promises end. She grew up believing that the only constant in life was change—change of scenery, change of address. Nothing was permanent. But she was feeling permanence now. It was intoxicating.

Claire and Jamie were alone in the cave. It was only the two of them. She only wanted to be with Jamie. They had opened up and been honest with each other. He had allowed her fully into his life and into the most hidden recesses of his heart. Throughout all these years, he had unfailingly, unconditionally stood by her.

"Claire," he whispered. She rewarded him with a small smile. He reached his hand up to caress her cheeks. His fingers danced across her face, feeling her forehead, her cheek, down to her chin and ascending up her other cheek. His touch was feather light as he outlined the shape of her lips and moved in closer to her.

They wanted to remove the last barrier that existed between them as husband and wife. He wanted it now. Today. That was obvious from everything he had arranged. This was both of their choice.

Claire encircled her arms around his neck. Her lips touched his. She wanted him to know that she was sure about his kiss. Sure about him. Sure about this. Sure about them.

They were content for the moment only with kissing, with exploring each other's mouths deeply, their tongues gliding together-each savoring the other's taste. Then, loosening his arms from around her shoulders, Jamie slid his hands down her sides until he reached her hips, and then he pulled her close against him, letting her feel him, letting her know how much she was wanted. Her small hands, too, began their own tentative journey, taking an uncertain path down his broad back, touching each vertebra, each muscle, and trying to block out the analytical medical student part of her brain that was naming each one. She tried to avoid the bandages that still remained, and relishing the feel of his hot skin.

He clasped the soft fabric of her dress and achingly slow, eased it up. With his injured shoulder, the task was slow by necessity. After several dozen heartbeats, he eased it off, freeing it from a few strands of her lustrous hair.

Claire felt her heart rate had risen from trepidation, from being in such close proximity, from being felt so intimately. However as kisses continued, it allowed Claire to enjoy, to slowly adapt to the ever-increasing temperature, and to reacquaint herself with her husband.

His right hand traced along her neckline and slowly down the middle of her chest to her waist. Claire was breathing fast now and her hair flounced in a curtain over her shoulders.

Jamie's hand lingered caressingly before he gave her a searing kiss. A faint, sighing moan escaped her lips, compelling him to ask, "Claire, do you know you are everything to me in this life?"

Claire gave a soft gasp as she felt his open mouth pressing against her nape, his breath hot upon her skin. He moved round to her side, planted small kisses below her ear and at the corner of her jaw. His mouth came down to seek hers, but instead she tilted her head back so that his lips met the arched curve of her delicate throat. Then his mouth moved to her collar-bone, and to the small hollow between, and she felt the heat of his tongue as it tasted the salt of her skin. Her fingers twined themselves in his coppery locks, tugging him closer against her. He let go of her arms and his two hands spanned her midriff, his fingers just brushing the lower curve of her breasts.

As his fingers touched her flesh, a tremor ran through Claire's body, which he felt travel along the whole length of her as she pressed against him. She gave a soft moan and closed her eyes tightly.

Suddenly she was locked in his arms and Jamie was kissing her. This time she felt not only his warm lips but his tongue was parting her lips and quickly passing the barrier of her teeth, filling her mouth—a kiss no longer warm and gentle and lingering like before but white-hot and urgent. Then abruptly he broke away, shoulders heaving as he struggled to control his breathing.

With every fiber of his being, every ounce of his will, he wanted to be gentle, to go slowly, but even his iron self-control was defeated by the intoxicating beauty of her body, and the pent-up intensity that had been accumulating for years with longing for this moment. He stayed where he was, his fingers lightly pushing back from her face a few disheveled strands of her hair, damp with their mingled sweat. He gazed at her from so close that her features were soft and unfocused; he lowered his head to kiss her cheek, her throat, and then dropped to his knees to take a better vantage of her breasts.

Jamie wanted to elongate this moment, draw it out over along time so he would have many more memories to reminisce should events turn against him once more.

If their times of lovemaking before—the wedding day, their first time at Castle Leoch, the dozens of times out on the road, and at the Laird's room, their first time in Paris, their first time after Black Jack, their first time after Faith's death, their last time—if those times had been chapters in a book, then those pages would have long since disintegrated from the many, many times he had thumbed through them in his mind, remembered them, and gone over them in this cave and in the prison. Many times while in imposed solitude, his hands had ghosted over her body. He could hover his hands through the air over a bed and remember perfectly the rise of her breasts, the convexity of her pregnant belly, the apex of her legs.

The unbidden memories of loneliness during those lost years, those denied years came upon him and he stiffened not wanting to break the spell they both wanted so much to create.

Claire took his chin and angled him towards her, worry for her Jamie pushing away all purely carnal concerns.

He nodded and smiled. The tension he had from just a moment earlier melted away and Claire could feel him relax. Claire took that as assent. Then she caught her breath as she felt his hands moving to her waist, then to the silky fabric of the petticoat still covering her hips, caressing her once more with what felt like renewed purpose.

And then she was on him, exploring him with her hands as she kissed him more aggressively, slipping her tongue past his teeth and felt him match her enthusiasm. She relished every square inch of his skin that she found in her frantic fumblings through his clothes, but her right hand stopped its explorations when it was directly over his heart. Her fingers trembled in tempo with his heartbeat. She needed that affirmation that this was real. He was real. Not a ghost.

Jamie's hands returned to hers and he pulled her towards the bed. He stopped. With his eyes and a slight tilt of his head, he indicated the bed to Claire.

She didn't hesitate when she understood what Jamie wanted. Breathing fast from excitement, she pulled him over to the bed.

"Are ye certain ye wish this? Afterwards, I donna think I'll ever be able to say goodbye to ye again."

Claire silenced him with a kiss. "I hope you never do."

Jamie pulled her down onto the bed.

CF-JF CF-JF CF-JF CF-JF

Three hours later, their breathing gradually grew more shallow, their pulses slowed, and Jamie gently rolled her off of him, holding her yet in his arms and placing soft kisses on her shoulder, her cheek, her hair. He tilted his head so he could take another peek at her bonny arse. As reason returned, he turned away to hide his expression as he was still becoming accustomed once more to their intimacy.

"Any regrets?" he asked when he faced her once more.

Claire was laying her head on Jamie's chest, then turned over to look at him when he said that. She wanted to jolt him out of his reflective, almost somber mood, "Yeah, I regret not doing it sooner," she replied with a flirtatious smile. "And I was wondering when can we do it again?"

Jamie nodded. "I am just amazed with the gifts that life has to offer and by the long and winding road we all must travel. Life is mysterious, complicated and sacred." Jamie reached over and grabbed her hand and placed it over his heart, "This life, our lives, is all I will ever want."


	16. Chapter 16

Epilogue:

 _The morning after Midsummer's Day, 1955_

The doorbell rang at Rev. Wakefield's home and Mrs. Graham walked with light and eager feet to answer it. Two men in dark suits were standing there with nervous expressions.

"Excuse me, ma'am, is this the residence of a Rev. Reginald Wakefield?"

"Yes sir," she answered.

The two men exchanged curious glances. "And are you a Mrs. Graham?"

"Yes sir," she answered again.

"I must tell you ma'am, when the safe deposit box was set up in our office in Edinburgh with such strange and specific instructions, we wondered for years whether we would be able to complete the tasks set forth for our bank some one hundred fifty years ago. I must tell you that there were significant wagers if this address would exist and that the people named would be present on this prescribed day."

The second man spoke up, "If Rev. Wakefield is also at home, could you ask him if he is available? The contents of the box require both your signatures for its release."

"Of course sir, I'll just go fetch him now."

Excited about the contents that they would be seeing shortly, Mrs. Graham quickly scurried up the stairs to find the reverend. On the way, she ran into 11-year-old Roger and told him that they had company and it was probably best to stay in his room and play quietly for a while.

Mrs. Graham knocked on the reverend's door and called through it that the men that they were anticipating since the Randalls left last night had indeed arrived, were at the door, and had some papers that needed signatures.

Rev. Wakefield opened the door a few moments later looking almost as eager as Mrs. Graham. By the time they reached the bottom of the staircase and returned to the two men, they had schooled their faces into a more placid countenance.

The two men stepped forward and offered their hands, "Hello reverend, I'm Mr. Smith."

"And I'm Mr. Smythe."

Smith briefly explained again their mission for Rev. Wakefield, "We have these two boxes—one for Rev. Wakefield from a Frank Randall and one for Mrs. Graham from a Claire Fraser. We were to give you these boxes on this day and we need your signatures acknowledging their receipt." Smith didn't mention the hefty sum, thanks to compounded interest, that the bank would receive from an account once those signatures were obtained.

Signatures given, boxes handed over, and Smith's and Smythe's task was done. They obviously wanted to linger to view the contents, but such an invitation was not forthcoming. Reluctantly, they took their leave.

Mrs. Graham indicated Frank's box that was intended for the reverend, "Why don't you look through what Mr. Randall intended for you and I will look through Claire's?"

The reverend absentmindedly nodded as he began thumbing through the papers given him.

Mrs. Graham bypassed the perfectly preserved and therefore valuable mementoes that Claire had left for her—items now worth a small fortune that could make Mrs. Graham comfortable for the rest of her life. She smiled broadly at Claire's kindness as she kept searching for what she really wanted—a letter detailing all that happened. Finally, she located the thick envelope addressed to her with Claire's hand. The men from the bank said that the account had been established 150 years before, and therefore roughly 50 years after the time that Claire and Frank should have arrived from the stones. Fifty years may have passed for them between making their promise and fulfilling it, but they had never forgotten that she and Rev. Wakefield were here in 1955 wondering and worrying about them.

Carefully, she unfolded the fragile, precious pages, took the liberty of settling into a comfortable sofa, and started to read of Claire's extraordinary life and adventure and Mrs. Graham's heart and spirit went soaring for the sake of her good friend and kindred spirit, Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp Fraser, who had finally gone home.

 _December 16, 1793_

 _Dear Mrs. Graham,_

 _I am sure you were quite anxious to receive this letter regarding the events of twelve hours ago for you and yet fifty years have passed for me. I could have written this, I suppose two weeks after I passed through the stones with the most important information, but I thought it would be best to summarize my whole happy life rather than just the mission that sent Frank and me, desperately scared, through the stones._

 _First of all, we did find Brianna and, thank God, she was safe and unharmed. Secondly, I learned miraculously Jamie was alive. Learning that, I knew I could never come back to your time._

 _Brianna had been found by a couple whose baby daughter had died. They treated her well, but we were able to get her back._

 _She did get to know Jamie well and grew to love him deeply as her father. They both shared a skill for chess, but it was their shared love for storytelling that truly bonded them and established them as kindred spirits. I encouraged Brianna to pursue that interest and she became a novelist—quite a scandalous vocation for a woman of the 18th century, especially when she later became a married woman_ _. I've included some of her published books._

 _Jamie and I went on to have two more healthy children, a boy and then a girl—Murtagh and Ellen. Murtagh has my dark hair and the quiet and studious disposition of my parents—as best as I can remember them. He's grown now of course and by coincidence he's chosen to have a beard and looks very much like his namesake and Jamie's beloved godfather who died at Culloden._

 _Since Jamie did survive that day of Culloden Moor and his godfather didn't, I can only surmise that somehow Murtagh did give his life at the crucial moment on the battlefield and somehow made it that Jamie survived. He was always dear to me, but far, far more now. By saving Jamie, he also saved me too and gave me back the life that I had always wanted._

 _Our other daughter, Ellen, is a younger version of Brianna—headstrong and red-haired and distinguished by a keen, scientific mind. It was tough educating her with all of the knowledge acquired within the 20_ _th_ _century and yet not setting her down the path that would allow her to unfairly usurp the discoveries of Darwin, Mendel, Lavoisier, and Mendelev. She became an accomplished healer and I taught her much if not all of what I learned as a nurse and medical student, including how to grow her own penicillin. The argument about whether to release the recipe was hotly contested with most of our extended family weighing in, but ultimately we decided to not actively disrupt the established timeline, regardless of the lives that might have been saved, and left it to Alexander Fleming to make the official discovery._

 _Frank did decide to stay in this century and we decided it best to dissolve our marriage. It was painful and difficult and Frank bore the brunt of the unfairness and yet I must give him great credit because it was amicable and far less painful than it might have been. That act earned Jamie's gratitude and once earned, Jamie would help someone for life. And though Jamie and Frank would never admit it, they did create a great respect and feeling of friendship. It was astounding to me because of all the hurt feelings on Jamie's side against Frank's ancestor and on Frank's side for the dissolution of our marriage. The relations were difficult in the beginning as Frank and I had to adapt to a new way of dealing with each other and I had to confess a lie I made to him._

 _With the divorce, we established an agreement that he would keep Brianna with him during the summer months. This arrangement, while complicated and tedious with the necessary travel for Jamie, Brianna, and Frank, it worked out because it remained important to both Frank and Brianna until she became a grown woman._

 _Our arrangement was that Jamie would take Brianna to Edinburgh at the beginning of summer and Frank would return her to Lallybroch at the end of summer. These annual travels were beneficial for a number of reasons—firstly, it gave Frank and me (and also Frank and Jamie) a chance to forge a friendship during those meetings that was able to last and to endure. These summer travels for Brianna also brought about not one, but two marriages._

 _Frank was visiting Lallybroch at the end of one summer to return Brianna. It was two years after we first came through the stones and Brianna was nine. A friend of mine from Paris, Mary Hawkins Randall, was visiting and the attraction between Frank and Mary was immediate and obvious. It was complicated as Mary Hawkins had married Black Jack Randall to legitimize his nephew (and thankfully widowed two days later) and is actually Frank's great, great, great, great grandmother. However, no one was concerned about the relation as Frank cannot have children and Mary already had a child, Denys Randall. Frank and Mary are far more similar in temperament than Frank and I and I believe it was a very good and loving match. He seemed to finally find the happiness with her that had always seemed to elude us and I was genuinely happy for them and their blended family._

 _Frank and Mary spent most of year ensconced in London as Frank had become a highly ranked advisor to King George II and then King George III. He had first started his rise through the help of Jamie's cousin, but Frank did show a genuine aptitude to politics and with his study of history, he had a deep understanding of the issues of this century. This position seemed to satisfy both his Machiavellian and altruistic tendencies._

 _But I wrote earlier of a second marriage caused by these summer travels. If you do share the contents of this letter with the reverend, then I would like to suggest that you do not mention what I am about to tell you. The year that Brianna turned 17, Jamie traveled with her to Edinburgh to meet up with Frank and Mary. Jamie and Brianna were waiting in an inn when Jamie was compelled to defend a young lady's honor who was being harassed by some drunks within the public house._

 _A young man assisted him in the scuffle and the two ultimately proved successful and tossed the drunk men out of the pub. They began to introduce themselves when Frank and Mary arrived. The young man announced his name was 'Roger Wakefield' and Frank became instantly alert. Frank asked him if his father was Reverend Reginald Wakefield and then Roger looked dumbstruck. Yes, that young man was the same little boy that I suspect is currently upstairs playing in his room as you read this letter._

 _Roger was a MacKenzie by birth and we traced back his family and realized that his ancestor is Geillis Duncan, the very same one that saved my life at the witchcraft trial and had revealed to me that she traveled back in time. I'm not sure if such an ability to travel through the stones is inherited in the blood or how people are chosen. The ramifications of what potential ancestor of mine may also have traveled through the stones has provided me with considerable thought and consternation over the years. I even wondered if my parents actually did die in a car crash or if that was just a story given out to an impressionable young child. If you think about it, what story will be provided in Boston regarding the disappearance of Frank, Brianna, and me?_

 _Anyway, returning to the narrative as told to me by the four of them, Roger remembered Frank from when he was a little boy and was excited almost beyond speaking, by all accounts. He was thrilled at the extraordinary coincidence to meet not only someone who had traveled from the mid-19_ _00s like him, but also someone that he knew from his childhood. He was also enamored by Brianna and she of him, but he was reticent to say anything as she was surrounded by both her Daddy and her Papa. Her Papa can be quite overwhelming and Roger had just witnessed Jamie's ability to physically overpower three drunk guys._

 _When Frank learned that Roger had taught history in the 1960s at Oxford, he told him that he taught there in the 1940s, they struck up a correspondence and Roger became a regular fixture with Frank, Mary, and Brianna that summer. Roger had told them that he had heard the stories about the stones and one of his specialties at Oxford was studying British folklore including Glastonbury, Tintagel, and Craigh na Dun. He wanted to test the stones so close to his home never believing they would actually work and once in the 18th century, he wanted to look around for a while and had been in this time for six months._

 _When Brianna traveled with Frank back to Lallybroch at the end of that summer, Roger came with them and asked the three of us for her hand in marriage. Watching Jamie walk her down the aisle to a man who loved her, understood her, and understood both the worlds she inhabited was one of the best days of my life._

 _I write this letter to you not from England or Scotland, but from North Carolina in America. I sent the package to Frank and asked him to make the arrangements for you and the Reverend to receive our correspondence on this day._

 _We moved to America because Jamie and I had grown restless at Lallybroch. We loved the peace and serenity, especially after so many years of uncertainty and war, but after fifteen years there, our wandering hearts were anxious once more for adventure and new horizons. We didn't leave sooner because of our agreement with Frank, but Brianna was now married. We knew that she was all grown up and was happy with a young man that proved to be a wonderful match._

 _Before Culloden, Jamie had signed over Lallybroch to his nephew, wee Jamie, who unfortunately died the week before Frank and I arrived at Lallybroch looking for help to find our still-lost Brianna. His nephew's death caused Lallybroch to revert back to Jamie and he had once more become Laird and remained as such for those fifteen years. When we decided to sail for America, Fergus, our Murtagh, and our Ellen came with us and Jamie signed over Lallybroch to his nephew, young Ian._

 _As I write this letter, I know from scant reports that events have grown dark in France. I hate knowing the city I once lived in during the time of trying to foil the Jacobite plans, that it now runs with blood. We had decided it best to not try to interfere in vain again although it hurts us to know of all the people that are dying there and that will soon die. I feel sometimes like the cursed Cassandra from the Greek myths—someone with the gift of prophecy, but unable to affect or change events. However, I must admit it was exciting to play witness to the American Revolution here as the American Colonies became States._

 _I'm nearing the end of this page and so I think I will close this letter and direct your attention to the journals that I have enclosed that recount our voyage to America and the adventures we had here. Jamie and I have had almost fifty years of happiness and love and I am daily grateful that we managed to find our ways back to each other. I cannot imagine that other life-the 20th century life of quiet desperation that I would have been living instead if Brianna had not run off that day. I feel pity for the other Claire, for the modern life that I would have lived had fate and happy accident not intervened-not just once, but twice. Jamie truly is flesh of my flesh and bone of my bone._

 _I never told you, but the reading that you did of my palm that day in 1945, it helped give me the strength in the early days to adapt to the 18_ _th_ _century when I came back the first time. You had given me the assurance that there was some meaning in all my trials and with what I was enduring. And when I came back through the stones, broken-hearted and pregnant, you helped me find the strength to put my life back together. It feels strange that I don't even know your first name though and I shall never know, Mrs. Graham. However, please know that I am and will always be your friend._

 _With much love and affection,_

 _Claire Elizabeth Fraser_

* * *

 _Update: I had intended to finish this story here, but a reviewer mentioned about Frank and what he sent to Rev. Wakefield. And that's right-What about him? I wanted him to have a voice in this story, and a better ending than 20 years of an unhappy marriage and then being decent enough to die at the proper moment-when Brianna is old enough that Claire can leave her but not waiting too long so that Claire is still young enough to have wild sex with Jamie. So anyway, thanks to the reviewer suggestion there will be another chapter within the next week. Thanks to all!_


	17. Chapter 17

_Bonus Epilogue (thanks to the reviewer who put its necessity into my head)_

* * *

Rev. Reginald Wakefield fingered through the many papers of the box left to him by Frank until he found a sealed envelope with his name. He opened it carefully as with all important documents, paying care not to rip even the envelope although internally he felt a rushed, greedy desire to read the contents within. The previous night, Mrs. Graham had filled him in—that the Randalls had 'disappeared' through the stones and had related to him the time travel story that Claire had divulged to her seven years before. The story, although fantastic, did coincide with the sparse details that Frank had told him at the time of her initial return.

.

 _Rev. Reginald Wakefield,_

 _I am sure that between Mrs. Graham and the visit of the bank representatives that you have come to learn the strange circumstances that led to Claire's disappearance in 1945 and her reappearance in 1948. I felt uncomfortable at that time to provide those details as I did not fully believe them myself. However, having traveled through the stones at Craigh na Dun and living over forty years myself within the 18_ _th_ _century, I can now testify to the veracity of Claire's story._

 _I have included several journals of my time here, spanning the more that forty years of my residence. I have also enclosed manuscripts for two books that I would like to be published, posthumously I presume, under my name. One of the most daunting and lamentable drawbacks of being a historian is that people within history most often speak of notable events – they write more of crowns than of chamber pots. So much of people's lives is left unwritten or if it is written, it often does not survive for historians and voyeurs such as myself to soak up. However, when the opportunity presented itself to be part of history, to first-hand interview the individuals that I would have loved to have asked questions as a historian, I just could not pass up this chance. I know the books will be an essential scholarly resource and so I am relying and charging upon you for the sake of scholarship and academic pursuits to see these book manuscripts published. As a historian, I know they will have a substantive impact._

 _I have also enclosed several papers and books regarding the Jacobite rebellions of 1715 and 1745 that I know you would have a personal interest in having. They are from the library of Lallybroch, given to me by James Fraser, Laird of Broch Tuarach, regent to The MacKenzie Chieftain Hamish at the time of the battle of Culloden Moor, and Brianna's natural father._

 _As I am a historian of the Jacobite rebellions as well, he entrusted them unto me and I know they can find no better or safer home than with you._

 _I invite you to read through my journals—some are quite in depth so feel free to skip around or save a thorough reading for a later time. Some are embarrassingly honest, but they are my life and I will be long dead and dust by the time you read them. However, they were my attempt to make sense of my strange trajectory in life and I know of no better place for them. I could not bear to see them go to the flames and I could not risk leaving them about for a servant or grandchild to find._

 _We shall never meet again so these scant pages of paper and parchment are all that remain of me and our friendship. Please treat them well and know that discretion does not allow me to be more specific, but you have my everlasting gratitude as you have given rise to my daughter's greatest happiness—and therefore mine._

 _Best regards,_

 _Frank Randall_

 _._

Rev. Wakefield read through the letter a second time to make sure he had understood all the details and was still unable to decipher the strange last paragraph regarding Brianna. He waded through the box of papers and easily found the book manuscripts. He set those aside, deciding to read those later and to fulfill the request that Frank had made to get them published. He also bypassed the loose papers that he assumed were the Jacobite Rebellion documents that his friend had mentioned and went for the seven leather-bound journals. Frank had chronicled his daily life for more than forty years before consigning these to the safety of a bank deposit box to wait out one hundred and fifty years until he, Reginald Wakefield, was prepared to read them.

Rev. Wakefield found a similar comfortable couch, across from Mrs. Graham, still reading her letter from Claire, and opened up to the first page of the topmost journal.

* * *

 **15 July 1753**

I spent a lovely day with Brianna and tried to block out all that had occurred yesterday. Yesterday, I agreed to end my marriage. I signed 100% of my wife's life away and 75% of my daughter's life. I gave them away to the man who is the cause of all my suffering and now I am feeling bereft and storm-tossed. I'm not sure if I made the correct decision and made the correct trade-off. Only time will tell.

I think Brianna will adapt to life here. She got along well with her cousins and her Aunt Jenny during our outing today. I remember that Rev. Wakefield told me once that 'children accept the world as it is presented to them' or something to that effect. It has been seven years since I heard him say it after all. Jenny Murray was wary of me though. I'm not sure if it's due to my uncanny resemblance to Jack Randall or the time-traveling truths that Fraser told her. However, her concerns hardly matter to me compared to all the losses I've suffered in the last 24 hours. I know that I resolved to start referring to Fraser as Jamie, but it's still too difficult to feel that level of familiarity with that man.

I see Claire and Fraser riding up on a horse outside my guest bedroom window. Fraser is assisting Claire off the horse and down to the ground. He stays in the saddle, but leans down and gives her a searing, elongated kiss. I back up from the window to make sure they can't see me, but I still manage to keep my view. As he's kissing her, he grips the back of her head possessively and when finished with my wife— I mean, Claire—he gives a little satisfied gleam and spurs his horse off to the northern fields.

I can see Claire walking up to the house and I can tell from her stilted stride that she hasn't been in the saddle all day. He's pounded her—hard. I can tell from her stance and gait just how thoroughly he fucked her and I'm fighting the bile and bitterness from rising in my throat. I suppose I should feel grateful that he took her elsewhere so I didn't have to hear her moans and screams. However, I don't. I have to struggle mightily to regain my breathing and slow my heart rate.

Ten minutes have passed and Claire has come and gone. She knocked on my door to check on me and tell me that supper would be ready soon. I have no appetite and tell her that I will not be present at dinner and to continue without me.

I hope that such solitude is not indicative of the remainder of my life…..

* * *

.

Rev. Wakefield felt that initial entry was far too personal and skipped ahead several pages, hoping to bypass Frank's most intense melancholy.

.

* * *

 **28 July 1753**

It's been a while since I last wrote in the journal as these last days have been difficult. I have spent these days just floating through time, feeling isolated and alone. I make excuses when necessary, but mostly retreat from the world. I don't want anyone to waste their time worrying after me.

Instead I retreat. Not to my guest room of Fraser's at Lallybroch, thank God. As much as I miss Brianna, I am glad to be gone from his hospitality. Instead, I am on the deck of a ship bound for France, with Fraser's letter to Fraser's cousin in my pocket. I feel glad that there's no one around who knows me. I still feel strange after the regimented, scheduled life of a college professor to have no obligations…and no family to be accountable to. My family now belongs to another man and I suppose I should feel grateful for the agreed-upon scraps as I now live on the periphery of Brianna's life. I try to find solace in having the freedom to feel the sun overhead and the wind in my face. And yet, the rough perilous waves and the relative helplessness of the ship upon these waters is too much a metaphor for my life.

I remember back to one of my last nights at Lallybroch and I had made the mistake of wandering into the stable. I had been restless and didn't want to escape to the library once more after Brianna had gone to bed. I know it must seem strange writing about this event now instead of on the day it happened; however, it was too difficult at the time to process the magnitude of my horror.

Before that moment, the several days prior at Lallybroch had brought, not a peace, but at least a quiet to my thoughts. I go to the stable door, push it open, and then stand there frozen on the threshold. There on a bed of hay, dimly lit by moonbeams shining in through the rafters is Claire—my Claire—on top of Fraser, completely naked and obviously in the middle of having sex. I know her body so well. Her profile is so well known to me, but seeing her—actually seeing her in the throes of sex with another man—was so foreign, so beyond horrific that in that moment I wish I had somehow died in the war or had stayed in the 20th century forever. I stand there, unable to move, unable to hide the astonishment on my face.

Fraser, of course, sees me first over Claire's shoulder and responds with a guttural, "Och."

That causes Claire to turn around to see what had caught Fraser's attention. Seeing me, she tumbles off him and underneath the clothes. Still I don't move. With the shock over, Claire squinches up her eyes and starts breathing fast.

"Frank?"

Hearing her voice stops the spell. I spin out of the entryway of the stable and back outside, leaning against the outside wall.

It is a nightmare. It had played out in my imagination—Claire with Fraser. Claire fucking Fraser. Fraser fucking her. But I had never witnessed it in life and in living color. I struggle against that memory now permanently etched in my brain. I put my hands as fists and dig my nails in the fleshy soft part of his palm until they draw blood.

Claire appears at the doorway. She's dressed quickly; barefoot and obviously still braless or corsetless or whatever women wear in this bloody century. "We've tried to avoid you—not being together in the house," she says softly. "I-I am so sorry. Jamie and I…" Her voice fades out meekly.

"It's not like I should be surprised," my voice sounds dull and lifeless. "It wasn't a total surprise. You've done nothing to apologize for."

She puts her hand on my arm, "Frank, I'm sick about this."

I recoil from her touch, "Look, I'm just going to leave."

"I can't let you leave like this," Claire replies.

"I can't stay. Please don't. PLEASE don't follow me," I call back to her as I stalk back to the house, trying to ignore the fact that it's HIS house.

.

So now I am on a ship bound for France and trying to re-assemble my life. I knew it wouldn't be easy when I first made this choice back at that inn the morning after we found Brianna at the MacGuffins. And yet, I never thought it would be this heart-wrenching either.

* * *

 **23 November 1753**

It is Brianna's birthday. She is in Scotland with her mother and Fraser and I am hundreds of miles away from her in Paris I miss her dreadfully and six months remain until I see her again. Whenever I see something here that I know she would love, I am reminded again of how much of her life I am missing. All of the sights—Versailles in all its intended glory, Paris in its unpaved filth without modern conveniences, Notre Dame with its glorious stained glass windows. Whenever I see something new or interesting, I want to show it to her and then I remember once more how far away from me that she lives.

I am with Fraser's cousin, Jared. From all appearances, Fraser wrote a glowing letter of recommendation and introduction about me to his wealthy cousin and, as promised, I have been introduced to the most influential people within the French court. My heart lies in England and while I make inroads here, I am constantly looking for opportunities to transfer my singular skills and experience over to England so that I may be independent and not be forced to rely upon _any_ Fraser. I am grateful to Jared Fraser and he is an amiable fellow, but still a Fraser and forever tainted as a result.

* * *

.

Rev. Wakefield thumbed forward several more pages hoping that Frank managed to find a way out of his melancholia. He knew something of the ending from Frank's letter and he intended to read all the journal entries from beginning to end, but he wanted to move forward to Frank's hopeful resolution.

.

* * *

 **14 September 1754**

I am on the road, traveling back to London from Lallybroch. I delivered Brianna back there after our summer together and I had a stilted, but not awful visit with Claire and Jamie. Before I departed, I gave a difficult farewell to Brianna, knowing that I wouldn't see her again for nine months, but I feel glad that our summer together went so well.

Claire seems happy and I witness a contentment for her that I never saw in Boston. I do feel glad for her. She travels far and wide around the county providing help and medical care to whoever needs it. At least three times during my stay, someone arrived in a frenzy of worry about an injury, illness, or childbirth. If it was far or would go into the night, then Jamie or Fergus would accompany her. It is gratifying to see that she is able to use her medical knowledge here and that her patients are grateful for her. I remember too often her frustration in Boston because she was often confronted with hateful comments from her male colleagues who resented her for 'taking the spot in medical school that rightfully belonged to a man because she would just have babies and drop out.'

This entry is difficult to write because my last night at Lallybroch, I had a puzzling and upsetting dream. In fact I was not supposed to leave as early as I did, but no power on earth could compel me to stay. I fled that place as though there was a devil behind me. My dream was far too vivid and…and shall I just say disturbingly arousing.

I dreamt I was in a dungeon with Jamie. I was clothed in the uniform of an English Redcoat and had long hair pulled back in a leather tie. I have Jamie under my power and I perform vile acts on him.

I honestly don't know what it means. I don't know if the Black Jack Randall part of me resurfaces when I come to Lallybroch. His ghost may be infecting me, I may be the reincarnation of Jack Randall, or this may merely be the psychological way I work out my continuing resentment of James Fraser.

The resentment of last year—of these last ten years, really—is fading and seeing Claire happy, even if it isn't with me, does give me some minuscule measure of satisfaction.

That dream did seem to come from nowhere. The night before we had a decent supper conversation. Jamie and I are able to joke and be light-hearted together as long as Claire, Brianna, or Ian are around as a buffer. If it's just Jamie and me, then it's awkward and stilted as all hell. So Claire, Jenny, Ian, Jamie, and I are up late, plied with good Scottish whisky and I am truly enjoying the conversation. Sometimes, I pretend that I am fine for politeness sake and other times, like last night, it's genuine. The genuine times of feeling content during this visit outnumbered the fake times and I hope that next year it will be even more. I then go up to sleep first as I still want to avoid watching Claire going into the Laird's bedroom. It's stupid, I know, especially after horrifically and accidentally catching them in the act of lovemaking last year in the stable.

Perhaps last night's dream was just my subconscious self reminding me of Jamie's theft of my family and that I am betraying myself by enjoying myself. That perhaps I should be getting revenge instead. I truly don't want vengeance and yet I found such pleasure, such erotic pleasure in that dream last night. It had felt wonderful to see Jamie broken and yet this morning the memory of it made me nauseous.

The dream felt all too real. And I wonder if it's part of the strange connection tying Claire, Jamie, Jack, and me together and part of the supernatural mystery of why I was able to accompany Claire through the stones. In 1945 after she went missing, I had gone to the stones, spurred by Mrs. Graham's stories and I had touched the stones on that day. Nothing happened. Today after I left Lallybroch this morning, I traveled to Craigh na Dun out of curiosity. I did not hear the buzzing that Claire and Brianna spoke of and when I touched the stones, nothing happened. Unlike Claire and Brianna, I cannot go through on my own. Through some strange quirk of fate, I was only able to accompany Claire.

However, the dream made me wonder if Jack Randall was a bigger part of my ability and a bigger part of my life and past than I had thought. Before, I had identified the darker forces in my heart and mind as Black Jack Randall, but that was really more to give those dark compulsions a name and a face.

I know this journal entry is rambling and perhaps I should tear out the pages and begin again with something more coherent, but I'm still trying to make sense of that dream. It truly was more memory than dream with such specific recollections and eliciting such genuine emotions. If it was a memory, then it had to have come from Black Jack Randall and that leaves me with so many questions. What is my connection to him? How much like him am I? Do I carry his spirit in me and not just his genes?

I could never ask Jamie about those specifics of my dream-memory. Even in my moments of greatest hatred and greatest resentment of Jamie, I could never ask him—Did Jack Randall really make you swallow? Did Jack Randall really ask you to _wait_ for him? I could never ask any such thing.

All that I could do this morning was find Claire and ask her a seemingly benign question, but it gave me the answer I needed. The answer that got me out of Lallybroch within the hour. I asked her if she'd ever used Oil of Lavender. With my question, she dropped the glass she was holding and her expression of confusion and undisguised horror told me all that I needed to know.

Last year when we were searching for Brianna and Jamie had scarred my face and told me the truth about Jack Randall, he had never mentioned any of those details from my dream-memory. And yet, somehow I know now.

I don't know what this all means. This deep connection with Jack Randall is like the time travel through the stones. It's yet another violation of logic and natural law. This is an unfathomable mystery and like the mystery of Craigh na Dun, I may never get any answers. While Jack Randall may have an even more powerful hold over me than even I predicted, I am still my own man. I will not be guided by him or have my life's decisions dictated by him. That man's perverse and self-serving sadism does not drive me. However, I should use this dream-memory as a warning, as a signpost, as an omen—that I need to stay far away from the dark path and dark thoughts lest they overtake my soul.

* * *

 **28 August 1755**

Brianna and I arrived back at Lallybroch today in a flurry of activity. We walk through the front door and I immediately hear Claire screaming from an upstairs room. This day was momentous which is why I chose to write it out in such complete detail, even though it is late at night and I am quite weary from my travels. I want to make sure I recall all details about this night.

"Claire is in labor," Jamie told me upon entering. Brianna had thrown herself into his arms with an exclaimed "Papa!" that I tried not to think of as traitorous. Claire had told me by letter that she was expecting and I had immediately forgotten it. It reminded me too much of her confession to me right before I left Lallybroch two years ago when she told me that she was able to have children after all and the implication that she had lied because she only wanted to have _his_ children.

Although two years had passed since that confession and I had worked my way high up in the English monarchy now where I wanted to be, I still felt the sting of rejection and of that lost life. Claire was in labor which explained why Jenny was absent. However, there was an extra boy among the throng that I hadn't remembered as being among Jenny's brood.

For two hours, Jaime and I had stilted conversation and I tried to block out the memory of Brianna's delivery nine years earlier in which **_I_** was the expectant father in the hospital waiting room and now I was a mere bystander and paying witness to Jamie's nervousness. Brianna, as the new arrival, had the right of conversation and regaled the cousins and the new boy with tales of our summer in Edinburgh and the big city. I had noticed that she hardly ever spoke of our old life in Boston and the new-fangled inventions that weren't part of life in Lallybroch or Edinburgh. It seemed that Disney characters, automobiles, and hamburgers had largely faded from her consciousness and I certainly wasn't going to bring them up to her.

To try to calm Jamie's incessant pacing, I attempt to mollify him saying, "Claire's strong and determined. I'm sure she's directing this delivery. In fact, I can just picture Claire with the forceps, reaching up in, and performing the surgery herself."

Jamie smiles knowingly at that image and then his face shadows over as though I shouldn't be picturing his wife in her current state, even in jest. I take a deep calming breath as it has taken a long time—years, obviously—to get to this state of tolerance between Jamie and me.

We finally heard the piercing, conversation-stopping cry of a newborn and I watch Jamie go pounding up the stairs. Ten minutes later, a beautiful young woman, probably in her late twenties, enters the salon and says to the still-unknown boy, "Denys…" and then her eyes landed on me and she fell silent.

She faints in that moment and I rush to her aid. Her son, as I then surmise from the repeated calls of 'Mama', rushes beside her and I ask Brianna to bring a glass of water for the lady.

She finally stirs and when I look into her eyes, I must admit I feel a strange stirring in my breast. Even as I write these words, I shake my head in consternation as this reaction resembles a penny novel or radio soap opera drama and yet I must testify to that strange powerful knowing and certainty I feel in that moment.

When she opens her eyes, she looks confused and haunted, "Alex?" she asks, and then "Jack?"

"No, I'm Frank, Frank Randall. I'm a distant relative." I reply a little haltingly, still unsure of the identity of this woman and it isn't exactly an opportune time to ask Claire to make introductions. However, I assume this woman has been upstairs assisting with Claire's delivery and could provide news about my former wife and her new baby.

"Can you tell me about Claire and the baby? Are they okay?" I ask.

"Frank Randall?" she replies, still trying to come to coherence. "Have you met Denys?"

And then it hits me. Denys. Denys Randall. Son—supposed son of Jack Randall which makes this…

"Mary Hawkins" I say as though reading her name off the genealogy page I had formulated in the 20th century. She is my I-forget-how-many-greats grandmother. The one I was just telling myself had sparked a 'stirring in my breast.'

"Mary Hawkins Randall," she corrects me, shyly. She waits a few moments as though too timid and too unable to meet my gaze, but then she does…

She's beautiful. History never tells you how beautiful a person is. Their entire life is just reduced to their name, their marriage, their births. The spark of individuality…of uniqueness is obliterated with the ink strokes and the distilling down to a mere family tree as though Mary Hawkins sole purpose in life was to create the family line that spawned…me. But she was far, far more than that.

This blessed woman in this moment has even made me forget my misery of the last two hours as I had awaited Claire to, yet again, give birth to another man's child. I thank her silently for the sweet instant of forgetfulness.

"The baby?" I prompt.

"Little boy. Healthy. Claire—I mean—Lady Broch Tuarach—wishes him to be called Murtagh Henry Fraser."

I smile. "Henry after her father," and she nods with obvious surprise at my in-depth knowledge of Claire's life. I add "You can call her Claire with me. I know her well. I wonder if Fraser will allow the Henry to stand considering all the English kings with the name." I say that with a conspiratorial smile as though we are two loyal English subjects finding a commonality in a foreign land.

She smiles back and it seems that all the slights and indignities of this evening are brushed away into the past as though they are nothing.

* * *

 **31 August 1755**

I never thought I would write these words, but I am actually enjoying my time here at Lallybroch. I am here at Lallybroch—with Claire and her husband and her new baby who was sired by that husband—and yet I am having a wonderful holiday.

It is late, but I must record this evening's activities before retiring for the night.

We were in the sitting room together. Jenny was putting the children to bed and Ian was out in the barn with Fergus who still avoids me whenever I come around due to my resemblance to Jack Randall. He isn't rude of course and I do my best to keep my distance also to make it easier for him. Settled in the sitting room, it was Fraser, Claire with her newborn, Mary, and myself.

The baby starts to cry so Claire begins to nurse right there in front of all of us, apparently oblivious to the scandal she is creating with her own husband and her good friend. Openly breastfeeding in front of friends is still shocking in our century and she didn't go to those lengths too often with Brianna when she was a baby.

However, when Brianna was a baby and if Claire got annoyed with my Harvard colleagues while we were hosting a dinner party, then she would pull out a breast in their company and set Brianna to feeding. I would know then that it was time to end our dinner party. Although I felt at the time that I had to give the outward appearance of shock and consternation, I had been inwardly smiling that Claire was…well…forever Claire.

Mary bolts to her feet at the sight and exclaims, "Pardon me, I believe I need some air." I smile since Mary had assisted in the delivery, but ingrained instincts are difficult to combat with logic.

I stand then too, "I believe I should like to escort you—if I may." She nods slightly and heads for the parlour door, not giving a backward glance at Claire. I do, not feeling at all shy about the situation as I have seen Claire in this state of undress far too many times. I do not miss her knowing wink though as if she were trying to engineer a way for Mary and I to have a walk alone.

Although Mary has already drifted to the front door, I linger just outside the door of the parlour as I catch Fraser's censure, "I canna believe ye did that."

"What? I'm sure Mary has nursed her own son and I've done that many times in front of Frank with Brianna."

"Donna remind me, Sassenach." I hear a pause and then Claire's high, soft laughter. A few moment's later, I hear Fraser's baritone and I wish I had moved on from the door, "So do ye think wee Murtagh wants all ye offering or may I have a taste?"

Claire replies, forever the forward woman with no hint of timidity of asking for what she wants, "There's one for eachof you. I doubt Murtagh would mind sharing."

Although it doesn't bother me as much as it once would have, I heard enough of Fraser's and Claire's continued love affair at that point and I rush to join Mary at the door of the house.

I catch up with Mary outside close to the paddock. She gives me a half smile that I truly find endearing. I'm not kidding myself, she is much younger than me, probably about 25 years old and yet motherhood and experience has brought a knowing to her eyes and her demeanor that allows me to bridge the age gap in my mind. I don't know all the details of her life. She obviously had Denys when she was young. I silently curse myself that I hadn't learned her date of birth when chronicling her place in my genealogy. As though the sum total of her existence was birthing her son so that he his descendant could sire me.

I figure that Claire knows far more about Mary's background, but I'm reticent to speak to my ex-wife and tell her that my I-forget-how-many-greats grandmother is the the woman who has caught my interest.

"Frank," Mary begins. Bless her heart for breaking the awkward silence! "Did you ever meet your relatives? Alex or Jonathan?"

I shake my head. My strange dream about Black Jack with Jamie last year shouldn't count. Thankfully, it hadn't been repeated since then even when Jamie brought Brianna to me at the beginning of summer or now that I've returned to Lallybroch.

"It must have been difficult for you," I say, "Losing Denys' father and becoming a widow so young."

She nods in agreement, not as one overcome by grief but one who has endured and survived. "Yes, life has been harsh and yet I hope I have proven equal to my hardships. I try to hide them though. My family doesn't wish to see them and my son doesn't deserve to be overwhelmed by them."

I fall into my now familiar habit of quoting Shakespeare. This particular passage has proven especially poignant to me because of Craigh na Dun's disruptive power over my life.

 _"_ _Therefore I tell my sorrows to the stones;  
Who, though they cannot answer my distress,  
Yet in some sort they are better than the tribunes,  
For that they will not intercept my tale:  
When I do weep, they humbly at my feet  
Receive my tears and seem to weep with me"_

"Titus Andronicus," Mary answers.

I look at her with even more interest and amazement. "You knowShakespeare that well?" I ask.

"Yes," she admits with a shy smile. "I must admit that I have trouble finding my own words. I sometimes find myself far too shy and so I will sometimes rely on others and use their words instead of my own. I have found myself partial to Master Shakespeare. My father has a copy of his second folio and he voices the thoughts of women better than any other writer that I know—considering that all writers are men of course."

I give a rueful smile at that knowing that Jane Austen and Charlotte Bronte are more than fifty years in the future and until such time, women must be generally content with portrayals of their sex as written by men, characters such as Ophelia and Juliet—women who killed themselves when love was lost.

I don't say anything about that although I make a mental note to mention to Claire that she's totally right to encourage Brianna in her storytelling and writing abilities.

Mary places a tentative hand on my forearm, her earnest eyes imploring mine to believe her, "I have learned that life can be difficult. Want-to-die difficult. However, if you fight through the pain, then there can be profound happiness waiting for you. I hope that despite whatever sadness you've endured that you haven't given up that hope." She pauses, shy and reticent, and as though debating whether she should proceed, "I can see the goodness in you. Goodness like your relative and Denys father, Alex Randall. Goodness that I never saw in his brother and my husband that was in name only, Jack Randall."

I take her hand, "Judge me for me. Don't compare me to my relatives. I have had enough comparing and judgment for a lifetime. If you wish to be my friend, then let it be for me alone and not for my family or for my resemblance to anyone from your past." I pause and give more weight than I intend for this next sentence. "For I am tired of competing with ghosts and I have no intention of repeating that ever."

She squeezes my hand and I must admit that gesture gives me a great giddy hope. So much so that I may tear out these pages at a later date if these hopes prove hollow.

Mary goes up on tiptoe, leans in as though imparting a great secret, "I feel strangely courageous when I am with you as though I can say things that I am too shy to admit to anyone else. There are no ghosts when I am with you."

She let go of my hand after that admission and made a mad dash back to the house, leaving me to stare after her and contemplate all that had occurred.

* * *

 **1 September 1755**

I am reading as per usual this morning in the Lallybroch library when Claire found me. It seemed to be a rare moment that the new baby was sleeping and I felt strangely flattered that she had taken that brief moment of freedom to seek me out.

She starts with a smile, "We haven't really had a chance to talk."

"You've been busy," I say without any hint of malice. I feel the transition to friendship and to platonic friends far more on this trip to Lallybroch than ever before.

"I was hoping we could talk and I was curious if you have any questions about Mary. I'm willing to speak of my past acquaintance with her—if you like," Claire offers.

A year ago, I probably would have felt suspicious and resentful as though she was trying to play matchmaker for Mary and me in order to pawn off any lingering sense of responsibility or obligation for my broken heart. However, now I feel her motives as genuine and that she's making a sincere offer.

Feeling a shyness I don't often experience, I nod. "Am I that obvious?" I ask.

Claire pulls up a wingback chair close to me, "You and Mary both are obvious. However, I shall speak of Mary without commentary or editorializing. Whatever you decide to do with this information is your own business. I promise you that I will not interfere."

"Will you have a similar conversation about me with Mary?"

Claire shakes her head and smiles at that, "I think that Mary would need to be practically family before that conversation occurs."

I look away, starting to feel embarrassed about this conversation, but Claire thankfully plunges forth anyway.

"I first met Mary in Paris when she was 15 and she was sheltered and naïve about life and men. Unknown to her, her uncle was arranging for her marriage to an old widower. She met Alex Randall at that time and they started up a courtship. She was kind-hearted and industrious, preferring to be useful by helping me with patients at L'Hopital des Anges instead of the endless teas and social calls that most society women engaged in. One night walking home, we were set upon and Mary was assaulted. As she was no longer a virgin, it ruined her uncle's wedding plans and she went into self-imposed exile in Scotland with Alex. Alex became sick with tuberculosis and she was pregnant with Denys. Alex asked his brother to marry her for him. Apparently the only person that Jack Randall was ever decent to was his brother. Knowing that Jack Randall was scheduled to die soon at Culloden as well, I encouraged Mary to go through with the marriage, figuring Jack's pension and estate would give her and the baby a chance in life. By necessity and by experience, Mary has grown a lot in the ten years I've known her. And motherhood has also been good for her."

I stay silent throughout Claire's talk, feeling sick to know that Mary had been raped when little more than a girl and the sick irony to imagine that she had been wedded to the disgusting rapist Jack Randall.

"Did Jack Randall ever hurt her?" I ask. It's an important question, considering my resemblance to the man. If he had, then it was irrevocably over between us.

Claire shakes her head. "Thankfully she was widowed two days later so the man never really had a chance. Luckily for those few days, his penchant never truly ran towards women which limited her attractiveness to him. And besides, his compassion for his brother extended somewhat for the mother of Alex's child."

I feel some relief at her answer. At least the potential for Mary and me still exists.

Claire bites her lip as though she's about to start a different, difficult topic, "Speaking of Jack Randall, I haven't been able to get your last morning here last year out of my mind. I haven't wanted to bring up the topic by letter."

"I had a dream," I interrupt.

"About Jack Randall with oil of Lavender?" she prompts.

I nod, "I had a dream in which I put Jamie through a night of hell. I dreamt that I was Jack although the details were so vivid and seemingly accurate and true-to-life that it almost seems like a memory and not a dream." I stop and shake my head, "I don't know what it means."

"You'd never heard about Jack Randall using oil of lavender like that before your dream? Never knew those sorts of details?"

"How would I know?"

Like so many of the other mysteries surrounding our strange travels, Claire has no answer for that question.

I continue on, "That's the only dream I've had like that. None before and none since. And yet I've thought a lot about it. I'm not sure if it was my remaining resentment towards Jamie working itself out or if it was a genuine memory that could have only been supplied by ancestor and if I am, in some way, a reincarnation of him. I just don't know Claire."

Claire looks like she's about to be sick, "Look, Jamie has told me some of what occurred that night. Will you tell me your dream and I will see how close they align?"

Reluctant to recall the specifics of that dream and disgusted to speak of them, I still obey her request. I try to describe it clinically and detached. When I get to the part about the cattle, she puts up her hand indicating for me to stop before swiping away her tears.

Claire stays silent for a long moment, contemplating her next words to me, "I seriously doubt your dream means anything cataclysmic about you, Jack Randall, or your future. Through all of the bizarre happenings with the stones, I've learned that fate puts strange choices in front of us, but ultimately the path we take in this life is our own. Jack Randall is dead. He's not coming back and you are not him. Do you hear me Frank Randall? You aren't him. You are your own man and he doesn't decide your existence or your actions. You were good to me—very good—to me two years ago with the way you agreed to end our marriage and you could have been very much the opposite. That was you—that was all you. And unlike Jack Randall, you deserve all the happiness in this life that you can find."

Automatically I nod, but I will need to do a lot of soul-searching about myself before moving forward seriously with Mary. With everything in her past, she doesn't need to be married to someone with the ghost of the late Jack Randall inhabiting him. "I'm going to ask Mary if I may escort her and Denys back to their home."

Claire reaches out and squeezes my hand. It's the first time she's initiated contact between us in two years. "I think that's a wonderful idea."

* * *

 **23 December 1755**

Today is my wedding day. Today, I marry Mary Hawkins Randall and become a father yet again to another man's child. The only thing that would make this day perfect was if Brianna was here too and could witness it. It feels strange, I am marrying into my own family. I am marrying my great-great-great-great grandmother and surrounded by her family which is my family and yet I have almost no one to stand up with me. We are marrying at St. George's Chapel at Windsor Castle. I am now a trusted advisor of King George II and his majesty has offered us the honor of this exalted Chapel for the occasion. I was last here at this Chapel soon after the internment of King George VI following his death in 1952 and I remember seeing at that time the now-future grave of King George III. It feels strange being married here—future and past are colliding together.

I love Mary. I truly feel sated, happy, and content with her in my life. I know I can be a good father to her son Denys and continue to be a good father to Brianna. I feel hope with her—hope for a long and happy life—far more than I did with Claire in which circumstances of the war, Craigh na Dun, and Jamie's ghost kept interfering.

After Mary consented to be my wife, I told her the truth about my past—about coming from the future, about my relation to her, my sterility, and that I had been married to Claire. I also told her that if she chose to walk away knowing that truth then I would bear her no ill will and that I would only ask her discretion to not divulge those truths. I think knowing that I had been married to Claire was the most difficult part of my past for her to accept and there were a few tension-filled days in which I didn't know if we would be married. At one point, she even slapped me, but I took that more as a sign for her deeply buried passion since she kissed me fiercely soon afterwards. Knowing her as I do, shy and reticent where Claire is assertive and forthright, I know how difficult a chasm that was for her to cross. In the end, she made me swear that she knew all my secrets and that I would never keep more from her. Like a proper gentleman of her century, I went to my knees and pledged to her that she knew everything of importance about my life.

The wedding vows of this century ask for the bride to 'obey' her husband. That will feel strange for me to hear as I'm still very much a product of the 20th century and Black Jack's penchant and desire for submission has never made strong inroads into my own heart. I asked the Chapel Dean about removing that passage and he gave me such a scandalous look of reproach that I let the matter drop. It did make me wonder if Claire made such a promise to Jamie in her wedding vows. I will have to cajole her about that point when I see her next August as I can't imagine Claire vowing to obey anybody. I'm not saying that in bitterness—truly all bitterness about the past and our marriage has passed and I now focus on the positive aspects. Claire gave me Brianna and I was exclusively her father for seven years and she brought me into this tremendous life here. I have had opportunities beyond imagining here and I've been able to take full advantage of my knowledge of this century's history. It has made me well-informed and able to provide never-wrong advice that is indispensable to his majesty. I have a life here that would never have been possible buried in academia in Oxford or Harvard in the 20th century.

So a wedding day is a wonderful time to put an end to one part of your life as you begin another chapter. And so I put behind me all the negative aspects of my marriage to Claire, my resentment of Jamie, and any lingering affinity to Black Jack Randall. I know that I have Mary's love and her whole heart. Her love for me is as true as Claire's love that I've witnessed for Jamie. I do not fear the past, the future, or any lingering ghosts. I used to curse the stones of Craigh na Dun for the unhappiness they brought me in the 20th century, but now I am grateful to them for the profound contentment I have found in the 18th century. It has been a long and winding road to bring me to this point—a decade of heartache and headaches—but it has brought me true appreciation for this amazing woman that I will pledge myself to today. Mary Hawkins Randall has my heart, my love, and my fidelity.

* * *

.

Rev. Wakefield inserted a bookmark at that page, glanced over at Mrs. Graham who had moved on from Claire's letter to what appeared to be a published book. He had been sitting and reading for quite a while and that page ending with Frank's second wedding seemed like an ideal point to take a break. He was glad to read that his friend had found happiness and love again. The reverend stood up and ascended the stairs to check on his own son, Roger.


End file.
